"Hey, Mom, can I take the Suburban and go to the mall?"
"OK, just to the mall and that's all."
"No, Mom, I'm going to hijack the suburban and take it to California."
"You do know I have a Lojack on it, right?"
"The suburban has a GPA?"
"Yes, Stephanie. Our Suburban has a grade point average."
"It does??"
"No, it has a GPS on it, not a GPA. I'm sure our Suburban, lovely as it is, does not need a high GPA, unlike you. How's that going, by the way?"
At this point she falls over laughing at her own stupidity. She is blond and realizes that sometimes it simply can't be helped. Her beauty is a curse and a blessing.
Last week I was forced to use her beauty to attract males. Yes, I shamelessly put my daughter out of our Suburban, told her to stand there and look helpless. Not a difficult thing for her to do, as she was helpless.
Our vehicle's battery had died, and between us we have the car I.Q. of a gnat. A gnat that has met a messy end on our windshield. Neither of us really knows much about what's under the hood, except that it goes. Except this time, it didn't. Go, I mean.
Key in ignition, key turning, annoying clicking sound.
"Mom?"
"Yeah, honey, the battery is dead."
"Oh, man, again?"
"Yeah. OK, go lift up the hood and stand there."
"I don't know how to get it going!"
"You won't need to, honey. Trust me."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh ... you're going to have guys falling all over you in about three seconds, begging you to let them help you."
"I will not!"
"Honey, trust me on this one."
So I pulled the hood lever to enable her to lift the hood, she pretended to look at the engine, then stood there, looking ... beautiful.
I swear, within 2.5 seconds, a man came dashing up to her.
"Do you need help?" Oh please, oh please need help. Let me help you. Please oh please oh please.
"I think my battery is dead.
"Do you have jumper cables?" Oh please have jumper cables, oh please oh please oh please.
"No, I don't - do you?"
"Oh, man ... I don't. Um ... listen, if you're still here when I get out of the store, we'll figure something out, OK?" (Like you getting into my truck and both of us riding off into the sunset!)
Within seconds of him walking off, another young man approached.
"Do you need help?" Oh please say yes, say yes say yes say yes!
"My battery is dead - do you have jumper cables?"
"Oh ... man. I don't know. Hang on, OK? Don't go anywhere. I'll go look. I might. I'll be right back, OK?" Oh please let dad have put jumper cables in the trunk, oh please let dad have put jumper cables in the trunk ... oh please.
Not five more seconds pass, with my gorgeous, blond 18-year-old standing beside the raised hood, when two young guys come by in a car.
You can see their eyes pleading: Oh wow, does she need help? I should ask her if she needs help. Oh man ... I ... oh ... dang it she's hot. I could never talk to her ... but oh ... I want to see if, you know, she needs help....
They don't stop, but they do drive by three times with that look in their eyes.
I'm beginning to think that there are no men left in the world who carry jumper cables.
Finally, a white pickup truck roars up and pulls in to us, head to head. A very kind, and very shy man, gets out, jumper cables in hand, and proceeds to hook them up to the doohickeys that will start our Suburban again. He never says a word. I can see him stealing glances at me, then at my daughter, then at me again. I thank him profusely, and he ducks his head in acknowledgment.
I turn the key; the engine roars to life. He unhooks things, gets into his truck and drives away, and my daughter gets back into the Suburban beside me.
"That is the only time it is acceptable to ask a guy if he can jump you, do you understand me, young lady?"
"Mooooooom!"
Maybe she's not so dumb after all.[[In-content Ad]]
