bitchin' camaro, bitchin' camaro!
Ah, small towns and close neighbors make for some mighty fine entertainment. Saturday evening we were relaxing in the dining room with the remnants of the bottle of wine we had with dinner. Our dining room affords us a fine view of the neighborhood and the house across the street. The house (rental) is currently occupied by a middle-aged woman and a bunch of kids. Earlier in the evening a guy had pulled up in a totally rocking mid-eighties T-top Camaro. According to John he was wearing stark white sneakers, jeans, a white shirt unbuttoned far too low, and a rad black leather jacket. The lady of the house came out and he opened the car door for her and then they drove away. I said, "They're totally on a date because people who've been in relationships for long periods of time do not open car doors for each other." It's true. John hasn't opened a car door for me since probably the first month we were together. If he ever did. I don't even care. I have a hand, I can do it myself.
Anyway, while we were sitting there after dinner, the bitchin' Camaro returned. "They're back!" Then they sat in the driveway with the doors open but didn't get out of the car for about two minutes. Finally they emerged. The woman went up the sidewalk first. She was clearly in her "Saturday night goin' out" clothes. Then Mr. Camaro got out and he was carrying a six-pack of Natural Light beer. "Oh man, it's time to party!" We speculated on whether or not he was going to stay over. Were the kids around? Where had they gone for dinner? "I think they're Wolverine type people. Or maybe Stivers. But definitely not the Common Grill." The naked six-pack (no bag, just the bottles themselves) was an irresistible clue. Hot times at the neighbors' tonight!
A few hours later, however. Mr. Camaro left by himself. I guess there would be no overnighter that night. No indication if the entire six-pack of Natty Light was consumed. "I wonder if we'll see him again." John mused that he might be one of a string of random men. "It's a revolving door of men over there." We speculated on what the woman's elderly mother said about Mr. Camaro. "It's that boy with that LOUD CAR again here to pick you up!"
I reserve the right to make fun of dudes with bitchin' Camaros because I am married to a dude who owns a bitchin' Camaro. Except his is under a tarp in his parents' barn and doesn't run any more unlike the bitchin' Camaro belonging to the neighbor lady's hot item of the week/month.
The phrase "bitchin' Camaro" shamelessly stolen from the Dead Milkmen.
Anyway, while we were sitting there after dinner, the bitchin' Camaro returned. "They're back!" Then they sat in the driveway with the doors open but didn't get out of the car for about two minutes. Finally they emerged. The woman went up the sidewalk first. She was clearly in her "Saturday night goin' out" clothes. Then Mr. Camaro got out and he was carrying a six-pack of Natural Light beer. "Oh man, it's time to party!" We speculated on whether or not he was going to stay over. Were the kids around? Where had they gone for dinner? "I think they're Wolverine type people. Or maybe Stivers. But definitely not the Common Grill." The naked six-pack (no bag, just the bottles themselves) was an irresistible clue. Hot times at the neighbors' tonight!
A few hours later, however. Mr. Camaro left by himself. I guess there would be no overnighter that night. No indication if the entire six-pack of Natty Light was consumed. "I wonder if we'll see him again." John mused that he might be one of a string of random men. "It's a revolving door of men over there." We speculated on what the woman's elderly mother said about Mr. Camaro. "It's that boy with that LOUD CAR again here to pick you up!"
I reserve the right to make fun of dudes with bitchin' Camaros because I am married to a dude who owns a bitchin' Camaro. Except his is under a tarp in his parents' barn and doesn't run any more unlike the bitchin' Camaro belonging to the neighbor lady's hot item of the week/month.
The phrase "bitchin' Camaro" shamelessly stolen from the Dead Milkmen.