A Sunday Drive

This morning was absolutely beautiful. Beautiful enough that I decided to head out in the miata. However, it was a top up miata morning as I appreciate that Casper The Friendly Ghost calls and asks for beauty tips.

As I pulled into the turn lane for Mowry Avenue a middle aged guy in a souped up fixer upper muscle car pulled up behind me. There wasn’t a spot on the car that didn’t have a coat of bondo. And no two panels had the same color bondo. Or maybe it was primer and bondo? I don’t know. I’m not a car chick. Anyway. As I had watched the green arrow turn to yellow and then red as I was pulling into the lane I cam to a full and complete stop. Because I am nothing if not a conscientious driver.

“Vroom. Vroom. Vroom.” goes the guy’s engine. I glance in the rear view mirror and smirk to myself. This guy was a winner. Seriously. He was enginerd all the way. However, he was like a 1980’s enginerd. At least that’s what his glasses said. Remember the big, like 4″ lenses big glasses? Yep. He had’em.

Now, as I said, I’m on Casper’s speed dial for beauty tips. However, I look like the chocolate that New Orleans Mayor Nagin mentioned last winter compared to this guy. And I don’t wear wife beaters. He does. The winner car dude, not Mayor Nagin. Although in all honestly, I have no idea what Nagin wears. Anyway.

More vrooming. Then it’s my turn. As I pull out - with the light still red - I glance in the mirror to see this guy cut off a minivan. Nice. It’s a two-lane road, traveling under a railroad bridge, for about a mile. Then we open up to three lanes apiece and I move all the way over the right, as I am wont to do. I’m a right lane driver. I work from home, I gots no hurries when I’m in the car. I may scream at morons, but I’m really in no hurry.

Winner car dude was in a hurry. He vroom-vroomed past me. To get boxed in behind a minivan. Tee. I toodled along listening to NPR and looking at all the pretty California poppies growing in the sidewalk cracks. They really are very pretty.

I pass winner car dude. Winner car dude continues gunning his engine. Like that’s going to make people move out of his way or something. Seriously, dude, it’s 10:00 on a Sunday morning. Relax.

We trade being the leader for a few miles when it comes time for me to move over to the left to get to Target. And Pier One. And Cost Plus. And Trader Joe’s. And Bed, Bath, and Beyond. And, nope, I guess that’s it. I put on my blinker - remember conscientious driver - and winner car dude speeds up. Now I’m thinking he’s an asshole and not just winner car dude.

He pulls into the left hand turn lane in front of me. He starts gunning his engine and looking around to make sure people are giving him the attention he believes he deserves. As he looks over to the right he notices a blonde sitting in the lane next to him. He does a double take. Does a triple take. Then guns the engine and does a quadruple take. The blonde looks over, makes her assessment in about .19 seconds, hits the automatic roll me up button on her window, and looks in the complete opposite direction until the light turns. At this point he stopped being winner car guy. He stopped being asshole. He became loser guy.

Do guys really think pasty white arms jutting out of a wife beater turn us on? Or that we get hot by the constant vroom-vrooming of the engine in a junk of a muscle car? Or is this guy just stuck in 1981?

Why was I going to Target? And Pier One? And Cost Plus? And Trader Joe’s? And Bed, Bath, and Beyond? I tried to sit on the patio last night, but the wee lights we put up a couple years ago weren’t putting out any light so much as they were just hanging there. No more! Now we have café lights and lots of hanging candle lanterns! So pretty. It just took me four hours and a sunburn (I am so going to miss Casper’s voice) to accomplish it before David got home from his cheese knife-less – or so he thought – camping trip.