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Suburban Island

Full Moon
Monday, Apr. 18, 2005, 12:26 a.m.

QUESTION: What's with that moon?

WHAT I LEARNED: Some drivers lack judgment.

Well another Sunday night is here and there is still so much I havenít accomplished. The weekend seems so long and delightful on Friday night but by Sunday afternoon you know it is going way too fast for all those big plans. Clean the house from top to bottom becomes Ė put the dishes in the dishwasher, try to pick up, and wave a duster around. Start a diet translates to Ė maybe Monday. Catch up on paperwork morphs into - downloading screensavers onto the new laptop.

The best thing that happened to me this weekend was getting to spend time with my daughter. She said that she wasnít going to go anywhere on Saturday night so we could have some mother/daughter time. Awww. That is so nice. Also, it was unexpected. Even though her boyfriend was working she could still have found a million other things to do because that is what being 18 is all about. I am glad I got on the A list this weekend. I feel like a star.

So we got our nails done, did some shopping, and then came home and just relaxed and watched some TV. We certainly had something to talk about during the commercials besides the cute shoes we both bought on sale. That is because we had an interesting and rather asinine ride home.

Here's how it happened...

We were driving along when someone honked their horn. It seemed to be a friend of my daughterís and a very unobservant friend they seemed to be indeed. It didnít take us long to realize that it wasnít just a honk of the hello variety. This honk was may-I-have-your-attention-please honk. And then we saw why, although we still donít know what all the fanfare was about.

I suppose it is funny to moon a female acquaintance on a Saturday night. I mean, how hysterical can you get? However, comic timing aside, a little further observation would have providing them some essential information that might have tempered their desire to provide a few moments of comic relief to a mundane weekend. They might have realized that they had a bigger audience than they had at first assumed. Our mother/daughter night had taken an inexplicable turn and there was no getting away from it. This adventure lasted quite a ways down the road. Really, I do admire those young menís perseverance. Had they only know that my daughter had not a friend but her mother riding shotgun I am sure they would have stepped on the gas instead of lingered just ahead of us. Unfortunately for them, they did no such thing and consequently my daughter and I had a hysterical and strangely scenic trip home from the mall.

Her friend is never going to live this one down. After all, what young gentleman besides Aston Crutcher really wants someoneís mother looking at their butt Ė especially, when that mother is the mother of someone they actually know? Thereís a price for rash action, gentleman. You have unwittingly paid it. Iím still laughing. Thank you very much. You provided the perfect comic moment to our mother-daughter evening. Iím ever so grateful.

I did learn some things too. Do you know what I discovered? When someone presses their butt cheeks against a car window, it never does their butt justice. Itís not a splendid sight Ė oh no, Rather it is a dismal, disappointing, extremely laughable sight. And what teenage boy really wants to know that some pretty girlís mom is laughing at his sorry ass? Iím just asking.

So, I thought up a few basic rules for effective mooning. First, know who you are mooning. Itís essential to understand your audience. Two, donít moon on a bumpy road. Itís lends a comical air to your endeavors. Three, know when to stop. If they have already seen you ass at the side window, you donít need to display it in the rear window too. Four, consider the benefit of sitting in your seat and keeping your seatbelt buckled. Weíd all breath a little easier. Iím sure your mother would breath a sigh of relief too.

Am I going to be laughing about this one for awhile? You can bet your ass on it.

image from stargazing dot net

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