The Perfect Song Blog

As I came out of Tops today there were three adults making and selling cotton candy to happy little kids.  I looked to see what organization it was.

The sign said, “All proceeds go to the Juveniles With Diabetes research.”

Hmm.   Raise money for diabetes research by selling pure sugar to kids.

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As I pulled onto the Exit 49 ramp on my way home, a  ’57 black Chevy passed by me.  Driving was a man in his 70s and riding was a woman who looked to be his older sister.  I wouldn’t have given it much about it if it hadn’t been for the huge orange flame decal along the sides of the car.

As the old gent eased out onto the highway, I was taken back the 1950s — sock hops, cherry Cokes, five cent burgers, and cigarette packs rolled up in your t-shirt sleeve.

Somehow,  a ’57 Chevy with orange flame decals didn’t seem to fit a 70-year-old man even though it was probably his.

I’ll bet he was cruising around looking for a vintage Ford to challenge him to a round of “chicken.”

Wow, where are James Dean and Natalie Wood when you need them?

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In Lawrenceville this morning I pulled out onto the highway, seeing the car that was coming but he was far enough away that I had time and the speed limit was only 35 mph.

I must have made the driver, a middle aged guy, mad because he stomped on the gas until he was practically riding my bumper.

I know he thought he was proving something to me. And he was.  He was living proof that some middle-aged men have the emotional ceiling of a 15-year-old.

As soon as we were on a small straight stretch he must have laid the pedal to the floor because he suddenly passed me then yanked in front of me so close he  nearly clipped my front bumper.  My middle aged man was showing me that he was mad and how good he could drive when he was angry.

I had to smile.  He was obviously a stranger in the area or he would have known that there was no other place to pass for five miles and he was now stuck behind a slow moving pickup truck.

This meant he had me in his rear view mirror for five slow miles.

Yes, Mr. Anger, I’m right behind you and I’m in no hurry.  I wish you were mature enough to feel sheepish but with a testosterone flare-up like that you’re probably incapable of adult feelings.

When we entered the four-lane he hit the gas again, passed the pick up in front of him and roared around the curves, happy, I’m sure to get away from me.

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Had lunch yesterday with a friend who I’ll call Stacy. We are in a small town restaurant  that I’d never been to.  People knew her my Stacy, but not me.  They stared quickly and looked down at their food. They kept glancing up at us and looking back at their food.

“Stacy finally leaned forward and motioned to a woman at a table to our left.  “She’s  a friend who works at the bank,” Stacy explained. “She’s wondering who you are.”

When we finished eating Stacy went over and spoke with her bank friend.  As we got into the car, Stacy laughed.   “This will be all over town before the end of the day.”

This morning Stacy said, “By four o’clock it was all over town that I had lunch with a man in a suit.”

“I’m disappointed that it took four hours,” I said.  “We had lunch at noon.”

“Well,” Stacy explained, “My friend has to work until three, so really it only took one hour for her to spread the word!”