Girls in Cars

I remember being about 15 or 16 -- in the throes of those awkward years -- and out with my Dad at a sporting event. My Mom came to pick us up when it was all over, and we piled into the car to sit in gridlocked traffic for roughly an hour as other folks attempted to leave the arena.

At one point, our car came up next to a car packed with twenty-something chicks, at least six of 'em, and most visibly inebriated at that. So they're hanging out of the car, catcalling to all the guys walking by, as my face starts to burn red. because when drunk chicks are catcalling, the last place you need to be is in the backseat of your parents' Ford Escort Wagon, with your folks in the front seat.

The merriment reached a fever pitch when one of the girls started calling to this dude who just kept walking, attempting to ignore her. So she just yells, "What's the matter? You don't like pussy?"

And make no mistake about it: she yelled "pussy" so that the word hung there in the air, tauntingly winking at me from above my parents' car. It was as if the word would never stop reverberating in the air around us. And I just kinda sank down in the seat as my Dad nervously fidgeted with the radio dials.

Thanks, girls who were in that car, for one of the single most awkward moments of my life. And for also confirming that a carload of chicks can be far more dangerous than a carload of dudes.