I swear I saw this: I am driving home from 9 hours at the office. Skirt tighter, face shinier, kids grumpier, car hotter. And who are all of these idiots leaving the same time I am?
So I stop at a stop light, glance in the rearview mirror behind me. I see a SUV. A fly, tricked out SUV. High-end model. The female driver must be a working gal, as what fool would willingly travel on Shepherd and I-10 at 5:45 p.m. unless she was coming home from work? Or a gun was pointed at her head? And her hair, her hair! It sure as hell wasn’t in an end-of-the-day-why-didn’t-my-$13.00-volumizer-keep-working-no-mirror-keeps-getting-lower-and-looser-as-it-hits-the-headrest ponytail. We are talking expensive highlights. Groomed within an inch. (Chicks notice these things). No sunglasses-with-straight-pin-in-the-arm-scratches-and-toddler-lick-marks-on-the-lens like mine. We are talking Prada, Gucci, Bulgari. The driver, the blonde female, comes to a stop behind me, and with God as my witness puts her thumb in her mouth and starts sucking it. Did I really see this? Just to be sure, I pulled up alongside her at the next stoplight, and I’m telling ya, Girlfriend was full-on sucking it!
What in the hell brought this on? Deadline missed? Out of chicken nuggets? Painful Kegels? Shit-fire, this woman has got it BAD.
But wait! Maybe Sister Girl is on to something. Clearly she is making somebody happy. Her clients, her boss, her husband, her sugar daddy, somebody ponied up the flow for her trimmings. Maybe she arrives home in a state of almost narcotic bliss after rush-hour thumb sucking. Does it release endorphins? Does she revert to a harmonious child-like state? Is it dipped in vodka? Maybe she doesn’t crank the car radio up to 1,000 decibels of “Brass Monkey” to drown out her kids’ complaints! Maybe she doesn’t unleash bitter rantings at the recorded phone calls from HISD/Olan Mills/Purple Heart! Maybe she doesn’t wildly kick the throw-rug when it bunches up under her feet! Maybe she doesn’t accidently pitch her kid’s homework in the recycling bin! Maybe she actually remembers her children’s true names! Maybe, just maybe, she is actually a reasonable and rational human being while trying to make dinner and field questions and help with homework and take a business call and find lunch money and sign a release form! Could this be the answer? Would all AWM’s be kinder, gentler humans after a commute full of le thumbe de suc?
Ok, so I threw this at the Old Man. He said in order to be True to My Art, I have to actually try it. You know, suck my own thumb on the way home and see if it works.
It was…salty. And I felt far from tranquil on my arrival home. Next time I'll try the vodka.
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