The Erma Bombeck is Dead/ Stock Recommendation Column:
Finally I have a column even though we had to create our own newspaper to do it and the readership will number seven, unless maybe the Mysterious Lurker reads it. It may take a little time, but soon will come the books, then the movie rights. I spent some lovely moments contemplating the possibilities yesterday and my heart raced as I dreamed of more jewels, more thongs, more loveslaves, the truly important things in life. However, my dreams almost came to an abrupt end; yes, dear readers (isn't that what real columnists say?), EBII (the stock tip for the day) almost gave way to EBIII before the first word was typed.
As I sat here contemplating existentialism, pogroms, estrogen replacement therapy and other potentially humorous subjects, the phone rang. Actually it rang three times. The first two times I answered, I could hear only a very faint voice, like something from the spirit world. THe third time, CW said irritably, "Couldn't you hear me?" He'd been trying to save a quarter by yelling loudly into the payphone. He does things like this to make the point that his allowance is inadequate.
Anyway, his car wouldn't start and he needed a jump. "Do you know how to do that?" I ask, because I don't. I get helpful men in parking lots to do it for me. Men love doing stuff like that for women. There is an offended huffy noise. "Of course," he says, irritably.
So I drive to the high school and pull my car nose up to his--I know that much-- and get out. We have two sets of cables, neither of which reach. Is this stupid or what? His battery is on the opposite side.
Oh. Wait. No-it's not.
Well----it should have been.
Anyway, then I almost knock down this scrawny little tree on a median to get close enough to CW. Why would they put cute little decorative things in a student parking lot? Kids don't care. And they can't drive that well anyway. I'm sure that tree was already loose before I hit it.
Then we look at the cables. I say knowledgeably, "You have to put them on in a certain way."
"I know Mom." Disgusted eyeroll. "I'm trying to remember which is positive." He thinks a moment, then nods confidently. "Red is always positive." He leans over and puts a red thingy on my battery. Then one on his, although it takes him some time to find the little knobby hootsies.
"Are you sure about this?" I whine.
He doesn't deign to reply, but attaches the black one to mine and leans over his. "WAIT!" I scream. "I remember something important! That one goes somewhere else!"
"THat's stupid." says my Science whiz son, irritably."Why would it do that?"
"I don't know. But I remember that it's important. We might die if you don't do it right."
He accepts this, surprisingly. And looks around for somewhere else to put it.
He's excited, I can tell. He tells me to start my engine. Then he races to his. I get out and run about thirty feet away. I suppose a good mother would have made her son get thirty feet away and sacrificed herself, but I was a little miffed at his attitude.
He turns his key. Nothing happens.
I nod, knowledgeably. "It's your starter!" I shout.
He gets out. "How do you know that?"
I feel smug. "Because it didn't start."
He rolls his eyes irritably. I turn my car off, getting ready to call a towtruck.
CW pulls a book out of his glove compartment. He starts reading. It's the car manual. He nods. "Let's try it again."
"Whyyy?" I whine. It's cold, it's the starter, I'm bored.
"Umm-because positive is always black." (This is the State Science Fair Winner?)
I grab the book, skipping over the bold print instructions that tell you to wear goggles, protective gloves and an asbestos suit when jumpstarting a car because it could explode, especially if you don't put the right thingies on the right whatchums. THere is a step by step description, complete with colored pictures of how to jumpstart your car. We had not done it exactly right. I am lucky to be here, dear readers. I kid you not.
"I will read it aloud and you will do it as I read." I said in my most authoritative Mommy voice. We do this; CW's mood improves when sparks fly out of the engine; the car starts. As I get in the car, he can't resist.
"Yep-I hate it when that starter doesn't work."
I hope he's had a nice year. He may not see 1998. |
