Well some things are hard to write about. Some things are even harder to talk about. This one is both. However, something has been nagging me for over a month now and it’s time to let it all hang out, so to speak.
The incident occurred while driving my daughter to school in early February. We were traveling in the usual heavy traffic on Clayton Rd. just passing the library. As we moped along, my eyes were gradually drawn to the car in front of me, a gold Toyota Camry.
Something about it was piquing my attention. Focusing more directly on the car, I realized what it was. Hanging prominently from the center of the rear bumper was a set of blue plastic testicles, swaying to and fro.
On a Gold Toyota Camry? You’ve got to be kidding.
Now, I have seen some pretty butch looking, jacked up, mud slinging, bone jarring 4x4’s totting the apple bag from time to time. Somehow, I was able to find a degree of tolerance for this. It just sort of made some sense.
Nevertheless, I never considered the possibility of a plastic replica of the family jewels tangling on a vehicle in view of children. In fact, never considered at all.
For example, my friends and I go camping once a year. Prominently attached to our chuck wagon is a set of chrome chromosome containers. My friend is the caretaker of this contraption and it rolls only once a year. The rest of the time it is out of view of the public except while in transit from Clayton to our campsite.
Now, I began to reconsider some of my ideas about human dignity, good taste, and civility. I realized a need to reconsider my definition of vulgarity.
But a Gold Toyota Camry?
My short sightedness over this issue was now coming back to haunt me in a very embarrassing way.
As we continued down Clayton Rd., I desperately tried to set up a lane change maneuver to pass the un-gelded Camry so my daughter would, hopefully, not see the its toy testicles.
Drats! No opening available. Doesn’t anybody know what a turn signal means anymore?
With my heart beginning to race and my body temperature rising from discomfort, I prayed for an escape.
Before I could drive my way out of this mess, it happened.
"Daddy, what is that?" she asked with innocent sincerity.
"What honey?" I said trying to deflect, stall for time. "THAT," she said pointing to the package right in front of us.
Why couldn’t my daughter’s greatest strength be her ability to keep her room picked up and not her powers of observation, I bemoan to myself.
She NEVER misses a thing this one.
I feign a squinty-eyed gaze and stare for a moment, another attempt to control the clock in this loosing game of stall and retreat.
Running out of time, I respond, "Um, er, I’m not sure sweet pea," in the most quizzical voice I can fake.
Suddenly, a decent person sees my blinker and graces me with an opening in the next lane. I steer hard and accelerate past the Camry with cojones.
"What was that Daddy?" she asked in a more demanding tone. "I’m not sure, I didn’t get that good a look at it," I quip, proud of my cleverness. "Probably something stupid," I rapidly add for good measure.
Yeah, one parting shot in my harrowing escape.
Something stupid. Well I guess that about sums it up.
Like most things, stupid comes in degrees. I’m sure I fit in there somewhere with my tacit approval of car cullions.
But blue plums on a Gold Toyota Camry? That’s got to be extreme stupid.
What do you think about ornamenting vehicles with cracker jacks?
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