"Have you ever been flashed?" WH asked me tonight. "No," I started to say . . . and then I remembered a time when, in fact, I had been flashed. I think it was so traumatic I blocked it out of my memory. But now it's back, so you get to hear all about it.
At the beginning of my sophomore year of college, my family and I were driving back to my school in the middle-of-nowhere Ohio. My parents were in the front car and my sister and I were following them, cruising along, top down, in my beloved Mustang, Flash. I had recently procured a CD of TV show theme songs from the 70s and 80s, and we were singing along at the top of our lungs to The Facts of Life theme song (the irony of this is not lost on me). Suddenly my sister started screaming. "Look, look! That man is showing us his . . ." and lo and behold, driving next to us in a beat up old sedan was a creepy pervert driving with one hand (going somewhere around 70 mph, no less) while the other hand was hanging his johnson out the window. He had his tongue lolling out of his mouth and his eyes were bugged all out. He had a ruddy complexion and was sweaty and had greasy hair. I really will never for get it.
My sister and I both started screaming, and I think I rolled up the window . . . as if it wasn't made of clear glass and could shut him out. I also stepped on the gas. It's a wonder I didn't crash the car. But what's more, I don't know how he didn't crash the car. Little Sister and I spent a the last hour of the trip analyzing how on earth he managed to keep his foot on the gas, steer the car, all at the same time as he was wagging his pickle at us. We weren't able to figure it out then, and I can't figure it out now. I also can't hear The Facts of Life theme song without having a violent flashback. "You take the good, you take the bad, you take 'em both . . . and there you have the facts of life." Ain't that the truth!