Ode To the Girl In My Rear View
Nothing beats sitting at a long red light. I like to take the opportunity to multi-task in my boredom: I check my personal phone for new texts, upload an order or two on my smart phone or check to see what's new on CNN.com. I flip through the preset six stations on my radio and decide I don't want to hear Dave Matthews, Finger Eleven or that god-awful "Rock Star" by Nickelback. Talk radio makes me laugh and in my attempt to jump aboard the topic of discussion already in progress, I decide to see if I need to upkeep my eyebrows, like the good "metro" I am. That's when I see her in my rearview--brunette, wearing mysterious diva sunglasses that cover 3/4 of her face. She's singing along to a song with the passion of an "American Idol" finalist. Frantically, I scan the stations in the hope of finding the tune she's performing a la Britney lip-synch, but she may have had a CD playing. I watch her in non-stalker fashion as she mouths the words to a song I wanted to hear. I follow the sway of her left hand hanging outside the window, doing what looked to be part of a dance move if she'd been on her feet and not stuck behind me. She tossed her head side-to-side, really getting into it. I avoid eye contact with her, cursing the fact I left my sunglasses at home. It would be selfish to believe her performance was just for me, but I was a captive audience. She didn't have a care in the world. Maybe she was late for work, maybe she was on her way to her boyfriend's, maybe she was going to pick up some of cat food . . . In the time she was stuck behind my vehicle, she was in her own moment and I was mesmerized. Mesmerized, that is, until the light turned green.
The lesson learned today: bop around in your vehicle, sing as loud as you want, as often as you can and don't give a damn about who's watching.
Nothing beats sitting at a long red light. I like to take the opportunity to multi-task in my boredom: I check my personal phone for new texts, upload an order or two on my smart phone or check to see what's new on CNN.com. I flip through the preset six stations on my radio and decide I don't want to hear Dave Matthews, Finger Eleven or that god-awful "Rock Star" by Nickelback. Talk radio makes me laugh and in my attempt to jump aboard the topic of discussion already in progress, I decide to see if I need to upkeep my eyebrows, like the good "metro" I am. That's when I see her in my rearview--brunette, wearing mysterious diva sunglasses that cover 3/4 of her face. She's singing along to a song with the passion of an "American Idol" finalist. Frantically, I scan the stations in the hope of finding the tune she's performing a la Britney lip-synch, but she may have had a CD playing. I watch her in non-stalker fashion as she mouths the words to a song I wanted to hear. I follow the sway of her left hand hanging outside the window, doing what looked to be part of a dance move if she'd been on her feet and not stuck behind me. She tossed her head side-to-side, really getting into it. I avoid eye contact with her, cursing the fact I left my sunglasses at home. It would be selfish to believe her performance was just for me, but I was a captive audience. She didn't have a care in the world. Maybe she was late for work, maybe she was on her way to her boyfriend's, maybe she was going to pick up some of cat food . . . In the time she was stuck behind my vehicle, she was in her own moment and I was mesmerized. Mesmerized, that is, until the light turned green.
The lesson learned today: bop around in your vehicle, sing as loud as you want, as often as you can and don't give a damn about who's watching.