A few Saturdays ago, I ran out of gas. Literally. This is not the type of thing that should happen to a fully functional adult. But, there you are. I rolled the dice one too many times with the empty light and came up short.
We’d been in a rush to get to my daughter’s soccer game (what else is new) with not a moment to spare for gas. After our mad dash though, the game was delayed. Figures. I really, really wanted one more cup of coffee. So, I jumped in the car and started for the bakery — not the gas station. Good priorities.
Almost immediately, the car started losing power. I turned into a pizzeria parking lot and rolled to a spot before the car died.
I was out of gas. I laughed at the ridiculousness of my situation. The “I told you sos” from my husband would be unbearable. I figured I had an hour to solve this problem on my own if I wanted to keep it secret. (And I did.) I considered calling a friend or the police but decided it would be too much of an imposition. Not to mention, too embarrassing. Instead, I sprinted the mile to home and grabbed a gas can from the garage. In our other car, I sped to the gas station and filled up the can. Back at my own car, I poured it into the tank and hid the can in a shopping bag. I made it back to the game in time to see it end.
“Mom, why do you smell like gas?” my son asked when he saw me. My husband looked at me. Darn. The gig was up. I shrugged and spilled the beans. My plan to retrieve the other car (now abandoned at the pizzeria) had been sketchy at best. My husband had a good chuckle at my expense.
On the bright side, I ran into my friend Meggan at church the next day. Turns out she’d had car problems too. She’s a mom of three and in her spare time she teaches Zumba classes and sometimes…pole dancing. So, you guessed it, mild mannered mother of three Meggan was stranded with a broken down car in FULL pole dancing attire — gaudy makeup, tight clothes and maybe even leg warmers.
Needless to say, several men stopped to ask if she needed help. Plus, every neighbor within 100 miles saw her and stopped to make sure she was OK. Anyway, her story made my plight feel better.
It’s funny how the friends you keep shape how you look at the world. For Meggan’s 40th birthday she decided to give Girls Night Out a whole new twist with a Zumba class and a pole dancing lesson. She’s not going quietly into this good night of 40.
Zumba is a great big dance party of Latin and International music. It’s like the aerobics of the 2010s, only hipper. And Meggan’s certainly got the beat. At her party, she taught the class with a thoughtful compassion for the dancing impaired (me). After the Zumba part, we pulled out drinks and snacks and out came the poles. Meggan’s friend led the pole dancing instructions. It’s amazing how donning a sexy pair of Lucite platform heels can make you feel like you can do anything. I swayed and sashayed through a few steps and even successfully spun on a pole.
“I have new respect for pole dancers,” I heard a lady near me say. I nodded in agreement. Pole dancing was a workout, especially after a glass (or two) of frozen Sangria. And, I must say there is something totally liberating about arching your back to a pole, spinning, swooping and sliding.
Another partygoer mentioned she’d just taken up pole dancing when she turned 40 as a new way to get in shape. She said her husband had been surprised and asked, “Does this mean you’re going to wear skimpy outfits, put a pole in our bedroom and be practicing on it all the time?”
“I guess so,” she replied.
“Who are you anymore?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she replied. “I turned 40 and I have no idea.”
From running out of gas to learning Fireman spins on a pole, I’m not really sure I know who I am either. One thing I do know for sure, is that with friends like Meggan who keep me laughing, I’ll be just fine.
by Expert Mommy, Margee Moore
Margee Moore is an advertising copywriter, mother of two and author of the first narrative iPhone app by a mom, “Sleeping With the Laundry.” Now available on your Apple iPad too!