The city work crew broke a 12″ water main outside of our office yesterday afternoon flooding our street in about 5 seconds and disabling our water flow. This morning, they kindly hooked us up to the fire hydrant outside so that we would have a temporary water source. But in doing so, it sparked a childhood memory and coincidentally a deductive line of reasoning from my coworker on why I am, and will be, perpetually single.
My coworker protested the water, proclaiming it was unsafe to drink because it was fed from a hydrant through a hose. I argued that as children we played in the hydrant water and drank from hoses without worry; these acts were rites of passage and I *think that I* turned out just fine.
He mentioned that the true rite of passage was running after the mosquito truck… in Florida, Georgia and the like. Now, maybe that explains the overdone southern drawls or why they are crazy enough to live in a state that is continually blasted by hurricanes, but where I come from, when we heard the mosquito truck, we ran inside.
That recollection reminded me of those summer nights spent outside playing basketball with the neighborhood kids… until we’d hear the mosquito truck and scatter in all directions to get away from the fumes.
I had the only basketball goal in the neighborhood with a double drive on a low-traffic road, so everyone always ended up at my house. It didn’t hurt that on top of being a total tomboy I (my mom) made cookies for all of the guys when they’d come over. I was the most popular kid on my block.
My coworker interupted me to point out the moral of my story. It went like this: “when you hit high school, you lost your appeal because all the guys had already tasted your cookies, but still saw you as one of the guys…and, girl, there is nothing less appealing than that.”