by Donna swagerty Shreve
My husband is quite mechanical and has been called on by our sons and sometimes their friends to use his mechanical skills. Aaron’s friend had a Suzuki Katana red sports bike. Unfortunately this impressive sports bike had been stored in the friend’s parents’ garage for some time. He could not get it started and he asked John to help him out. Jason and Aaron were in their late twenties and fast bikes were still an interest and sometimes obsession. John worked his tricks and soon got the bike purring quite nicely. What it needed was a good test drive to make sure it was in good condition and possible gunk had been burned out. John put on a full face helmet and off he went in his jeans and jacket..
He drove around the neighborhood and tried a bit more speed on a main road. As John left the stop sign, he started to gather speed. Walking along the sidewalk were two teenage girls observing the approaching hot bike. One of the girls was so impressed with the image John presented that she showed her appreciation by lifting up her tee shirt to reveal her braless ample chest. To the young girl’s disappointment, John continued on his way and finished with his test. It made a great tale when John returned to the boys. There might have even been some conversation of the owner getting back on the bike and trying to find those impressed girls.
While still teaching in Lodi Unified, I was returning from a teachers’ workshop that was required now and then. I was driving west on Highway 12 leaving Lodi proper. I drove in the far left lane to be able to head south to Stockton. In the middle lane was a fellow teacher that I recognized because she drove around in a flashy convertible sports car. I cannot remember the make of the car but it was impressive if one is in to those products of obvious consumer consumption.
To protect herself in this open car, she had wrapped her head and neck in a flashy long scarf. To top off the look, she wore large sunglasses that protected her eyes from the wind. She presented quite a figure in her bright red sports car. Please realize she was just a year or so from retiring so she was not a young thing.
Two young guys maybe in their twenties or late teens pulled up to the right of her in another lane going straight. The stage was set and I had a great position for viewing. We were all waiting for the light to turn green. They glanced over at her and immediately tried to get her attention. They tried honking and yelling but to no avail. They even flailed their arms. She completely ignored them and drove on when the light turned green. The guys followed in hot pursuit but finally gave up when she continued to ignore him.
Several years later I saw her daughter and took much delight in retelling this tale. The woman had retired and still had her sports car. Her daughter loved the story and was anxious to tell her mother.
When women reach a certain age, we no longer hear those whistles or catcalls. We have stopped looking or noticing. I had to explain this phenomenon to a fellow teacher who had whistled at me once after school. I was in my fifties and he was in his thirties. He chastised me the next day since I had ignored him. I had to explain what happens as women get older.
607 words
11/28/17
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