“Oh my God! Oh my God! There’s Road Bike Dad! That’s Road
Bike Dad! We have to say hi! That’s his new car!”
“Who is Road Bike Dad? What are you talking about?” These
random bursts of enthusiasm were not atypical for Mayor Mom but they were usually prompted by the sighting of a casual acquaintance or friend in a restaurant or
the grocery store. I started looking at the cars around us, confused to say the
least.
“Road Bike Dad! Ball Buster Mom’s husband! He just got that
car and he is so excited about it!!! We have to go see him!!!” Mayor Mom was
flailing around in the front seat in her giant, white puffy vest used
exclusively for inclement California weather exercise. The vest practically
swallows her whole.
“What car?”
“That yellow Corvette! Right there!” Mayor Mom was leaning
forward, pointing through the windshield.
I looked over and saw the back end of a yellow Corvette and
attempted to process the idea that Mayor Mom was presenting.
Ball Buster Mom let
Road Bike Dad get a used, yellow Corvette? This can’t be right.
“Come on! We have to say hi! Oh my God! This is so funny!”
Mayor Mom giggled away in excitement.
And now I am being
asked to chase down this Corvette at 9 o’clock at night to do what? To say hi? I
barely know this guy. She’s just so excited. Why is she so excited? Seriously,
I don’t understand why she’s so excited. Should I be more excited? Is this me
not being present? I do need to be more present instead of always worrying
about what comes next. Another one of my resolutions that I have also said out
loud. To too many people.
Jesus Christ. She’s still giddy over there. This
must be really important to her. Don’t be a douche, Liz. Help your friend do
her thing.
I looked around and saw that I had a clear opportunity to
get out of the left turn lane and move into the next lane over. I signaled and
moved over. We were now in the lane next to the Corvette but still two cars
behind.
I was now equally committed to the mission.
The light turned green. My confusion continued to mount as I pressed my foot on the
accelerator.
I know Ball Buster Mom pretty well. I enjoy her company. I
have met Road Bike Dad a few times. Nice guy. Each time I meet him, I think
about one of the first times I met Ball Buster Mom. She was telling a few of
us about a gnarly accident Road Bike Dad had: thrown-from-his-bike-gnarly. And
it wasn’t his first accident. Scared the shit out of me. I know their twin
girls, too. Great girls. My family has actually vacationed with the girls – not
their parents – along with a couple other families. These things somehow happen
in tangled suburban lives.
And for the record, Ball Buster Mom’s name could also be No
Bullshit Mom; Yah, That’s Not Happening Mom; or if pressed: No Way in Hell
That’s Fucking Happening Mom.
I turned to the Mayor who was now fighting with the window
button.
“Let me get this straight. Ball Buster Mom’s husband just got
a used, yellow Corvette? Is he having a mid-life crisis?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.
It’s a CONVERTIBLE!!!” She gushed. Mayor Mom was clearly all in on the purchase.
“Why do you know all about this car?” I finally asked.
“Oh, Fun Mom and I saw him yesterday after tennis. He showed
it to us in the parking lot. You should have seen his face. He just lit up when
he was talking about it. He said Ball Buster Mom wasn’t so happy about it but
he was so excited. It was so cute. Can you unlock this or whatever and let me
put my window down?”
“Oh, sorry.” I reluctantly depressed the window lock button.
She’s rolling down the
window. This isn’t just a casual, allegedly coincidental wave “hi”. Mayor Mom is rolling down the fucking window
so she can say hi to a guy she saw less than 36 hours ago and once again express
her enthusiasm for his vehicle purchase. Who does that?
Oh shit! She’s OUT the
window. She’s hanging out of the fucking window. Mayor Mom and her giant, white
puffy vest are hanging out my car window. And she hasn’t been drinking.
We stopped at the next light side by side with our target. I
craned my head to peer around Mayor Mom so I could be in the moment and offer
my own, enthusiastic, bright-smiled, “hello” to Road Bike Dad.
And there, he wasn’t. In the driver’s seat of this
particular used, yellow, convertible Corvette sat a husky, bleached-blonde, seemingly well-worn gal wearing sunglasses (at night). Her window was also down – not to
offer a hearty greeting to her fellow drivers – she was smoking.
“That’s not him,” Mayor
Mom uttered as she and her giant, white puffy vest shrunk back into the car and
sunk deeper and deeper into the passenger seat.
“I can see that. Can we put the window up now?”
The rest of the drive home was spent howling with laughter
to the point that I nearly took out several, orange, road construction pylons.
The kind of laughter that truly cleanses the soul. The kind of laughter
that only comes along when you are truly and completely in the moment.
So thank you, Mayor Mom, for helping me honor at least one
of my new year’s resolutions. And on behalf of your entire community, thank for
being you. I don’t think you realize the power your endless supply of bright
smiles and cheerful “hellos” hold.
And Road Bike Dad, congrats on the new wheels.
 |
| Understated? Not so much. Fun? Infinitely so. |
And Ball Buster Mom, it could be much worse:
