Thursday, June 6, 2013

Turn her head

When I was younger it was hard to impress the chicks. In high school I could leap a tall building with a single bound thinking to get some admiration from the fairer sex but sure enough some football player would grab the thing, crush it with his bare hands, and calmly step across. All the girls would sigh as if he just did something amazing and I'd be left to nurse my sore ankles from that rough landing in solitude. The next morning the headlines would tell of countless old people and little kids maimed when their building suddenly got crushed but I guess women didn't read the paper in those days. Not the ones I was interested in anyway. The school paper would, of course, feature a story about this lame idiot that sprained his ankles while prancing around like some moron. Girls would giggle as the football players would slap me on the back exclaiming, "Made the paper again ehh?" What kind of idiot finishes a sentence with eh and spells it with two h's...Jocks.

As I got older I found that my wife would get pretty worked up if I was able to walk all the way to the bedroom without falling down. These days she is marveled that I make it through an afternoon without breaking a hip.

In my youth I would jump in the old Pontiac, pop the clutch, and power slide around a hairpin curve 25 miles an hour faster than the suggested curve-speed. Some cowboy would climb up in his overgrown Ford, shove it in four low, and just plow ahead in a straight line. The next day the paper would feature an article about poor old Mrs. Jenkins' fence getting mangled and burnt rubber all over her prize roses. The school paper would talk about how I sprained an ankle popping my clutch and had to walk with a crutch. The girls would giggle when the football players would slap me on the back and exclaim, "Made the paper ehh tripod?" (The double h again, I told you they were idiots.)

When maturity began to evolve my driving skills my wife would get pretty hot if I remembered to turn off my signal light. These days she is astonished if I can still find our house.

In junior high I could slam a line drive past the shortstop, round first, and slide into second beating the tag by a hair. The football player would pop a blooper out toward the pitcher who would grab it and be waiting halfway to first. The guy would slam that pitcher so hard the ball would land in the outfield and of course when he, the pitcher, landed in the outfield he'd drop that ball enabling an infield home run. A little mention in the local paper about some poor pitcher sustaining inoperable brain damage and a front page story in the school gazette about my breaking my ankle sliding into second. The old slap on the back followed by, "You're in the news again eh?" Maybe those guys were wising up...no wayy

Twenty years later my wife gets all giddy when I remember to record the game. Now if  I can just say the word baseball without spitting peas on her she kind of smiles, waggles her head and winks at me.

Bottom line is, don't worry about impressing the babes when you're young. They'll come around.


Driving tip: Throw a hand towel in your glove box or console. If your windows suddenly fog while driving you'll be glad that towel is handy. If the sun raises the sill temperature on your door to 6000 degrees the towel will provide a fine barrier so you can still rest your arm on it and look cool. If the water spills, if the grandkid cries, if the AC quits and you get sweat in your eyes (bonus poem). You get it. Lots of possibilities. If you sneeze and get snot all over your windshield leave it alone. Wait till you get cleaner and two towels.
















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