"Anyone that doesn't agree with leggings as pants can physically fight me.
And I'm going to win because I have a full range of motion due to the fact that I am wearing leggings as pants."

Friday, April 18, 2008

Happy Birthday, Lindsay

I think one of the more amusing things about being an adult is embarrassing younger members of the family. My mom and aunt did it to me and, looking back, it was pretty funny. One of my personal favorites was the time that my mom followed the boy’s varsity basketball team’s bus all the way to one of their away games. She waved and honked the whole time. After experiences like that, you realize that no matter how much mortification you feel at any one time, eventually you get over it.

It’s kind of like giving birth. After surviving that, you know you can handle most anything.

I got the chance to pay it forward when my cousin, Lindsay, was in Jr. High.

(This is a picture taken 18 years ago of Lindsay and my brother, Tommy.)

I was helping to shuttle some girls to the movies for her birthday party. As I drove them home, they requested that I go by, not-surprisingly, a boy’s house. A boy that Lindsay had a crush on.

Of course, I was more than willing to do it.

As we headed toward the house, we actually drove right by the boy and a couple of his friends walking down the street. All the girls, except Lindsay, squealed that I should turn around to go talk to them. And after a block or two, I did.

As I slowed down to make a U-turn, Lindsay, who was sitting in the passenger seat, opened her door, jumped out of the car and took off down the street, away from the boys. I never even had a chance to stop the car and she was gone. She was haulin ass, with her arms pumping and her head thrown back, like her body was actually going faster than what her head could keep up with.

I let her go. And decided that if she wasn’t going to stick around, I was really going to embarrass her.

So, I pulled up next to the boys, rolled down my window and asked, “Is one of you Dennis?” [Note- I don’t actually remember what the poor kid’s name was, but for this story, it’s going to be Dennis.] The rest of the girls were, by this time, giggling hysterically in the back seat.

Dennis, who never did admit to actually being Dennis, by the way, looked terrified. I’m not sure if he was more worried about the older woman (I was probably 19 or 20) who knew his name or the car full of laughing girls.

To put him at ease, I said, “I think you know my cousin, Lindsay. Well, it’s her birthday today, and since I didn’t get her anything, I was hoping you would come back to her house with us and be her birthday present.”

Needless to say, he did not get into my car.

Smart boy.

But we did give him directions in case he changed his mind.

So, Happy Belated Birthday, Lindsay. I hope I didn’t do any permanent psychological damage.

And I didn't get you anything this year, either. I have been driving around random neighborhoods with bus fair to Durango, looking for guys. I don't really know your type, though.

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