How far did you go for love? Did you move to another country? Forfeit your life-long dreams? Change your last name? Lie, cheat, steal, or kill? Shave your legs?
Me? What have I done lately in the name of love? This past Sunday, I traveled 3 + hours, to watch cars go around and around a track, in 100+ degree weather. Yes, I did!
If my husband and I had a theme song, it would be the 1989 smash hit “Opposites attract”, by Paula Abdul. I am North. My husband is South. He is negative. I am positive. He is a Republican. I am an Independent. He is night, and I am day. We are complete opposites in every sense of the word right down to the things that make us tick, which includes NASCAR.
My husband loves the thrill of a good chase, or should I say, race. The roar of angry engines and the thunder of a pack of approaching stock cars gets his blood pumping and his heart racing. He’s on his feet and cheering with every pass and advance. He’s excited! He’s animated, and well, halfway into the race, I’m a little more than bored.
To pass the time, as the cars pass one another, I focus my interests elsewhere. Say, on the people in front of me. I start to get concerned about their well-being. See this girl in front of me, had a huge, jet-black, wicked witch, mole on her left shoulder. I am certain it was atypical, quite possibly cancerous, but how do you tell a complete
drunk stranger that they have cancer on their shoulder? I imagine it would go a little something like this:
“Excuse me, miss. I know you don’t know me, but I am really worried about that disgusting mole on your shoulder. I think you have Cancer.”
“What? Are you a doctor?”, girl with mole asks worried.
“Umm. Well, no, but I have studied those mole posters at the dermatologist’s office, and your’s definitely looks atypical.”
“Yeah, okay! I”ll be sure to call my doctor on Monday. You nosy, Freak!”
Yeah, I didn’t tell her my diagnosis. I never even spoke a single word to her, so I moved on to this guy.
I know it’s perfectly acceptable in today’s culture for a man to don pink attire, but I still have issues with it for a number of reasons.
First of all, pink belongs to baby girl’s predominately. How many times do you see a newborn baby boy swaddled in a pink blanket? Never. Not once.
Then I wonder if he picked the pink shirt out himself? If so, what was he thinking? Oh, look at that lovely pink polo shirt, I bet I would look fabulous in pink. Actually, I would look pretty in pink. Grown man + pale pink clothing = oxymoron with a dash of irony! Yeah, it just doesn’t work for me!
So, I add another person to my list of concerns. This guy:
I know you can’t see his lower half in this picture, but he’s also wearing swimming trunks and Birkenstocks. Now, I don’t know about you all, but I feel the only time it’s appropriate to wear swim wear in public is when you are going to be in or near a body of water. This is not the case for this fella. Did I mention his fluid intake consisted of mostly alcohol? I imagine he was tipsy when he was picking out his race day clothing. It would explain a lot.
I, then, came to the conclusion that it might be in my best interest, if I stuck to worrying about número uno, myself. After all, I was the gal outside, with her tush rooted in a plastic chair, under a blistering hot sun, watching cars go around and around a track, all for the sake of love. Would I do it again, you ask?