Sunday

I sat behind Perfect Girl with her Perfect Family at the band concert. I've actually known her since high school. She is thin and blond. She was a cheerleader. She grew up and is still thin and blond. She married a good looking blond man, and, guess what? They have three blond, great looking kids. Their clothes are always perfect looking and clean. They look like a J Crew catalog. Healthy and perfect, but not too formal.

They're all very nice. She's always been nice to me. And I always feel weird and awkward and self conscious. Tonight for example, when she greeted me, I felt very aware suddenly of my spider web hose and my feathered hair clip as I sat there reading the NYT Book Review in the middle of the grade school gym. How pretentious I am! I suddenly wished that I had changed into jeans and taken my hair clip out and sat there patiently while I waited for the concert. She smiles like she doesn't notice.

I thought of her after the band concert after I pulled over to investigate the thumping sound and discovered that I had a (frozen) flat tire. Shortly after that I discovered that I did not have my cell phone. (Oh yeah, I left it in my briefcase at work.) My 10 year old crouched next to me in the dark as the snow came down.

"What are we going to do?" he asked.

"We're going to change the tire," I said.

I opened the trunk and moved the box of dance costume pieces and the pair of shoes someone left and the pile of books and pulled out the spare tire. I was relieved to find both the jack and the tire iron.

My son watched me raptly and crouched down to help.

I had difficulty loosening the bolts in the cold and it was at that minute that I thought again of my high school classmate. I bet B has never gotten a flat tire on her shitty old car in a snow storm on a night when she forgot her cellphone. That shit just happens to me because I am a screw up.

"So a cowboy rides into town on Sunday and three days later he rides out, also on Sunday. How is that possible?" Frank asked.

I looked over at my son with the street light behind him - the snow flakes standing out in the light.

"His horse's name was Sunday," I said after a minute.

"Yes!" he said. And then, "Made ya smile! I knew that you like corny jokes."

I tried the bolts again, this time smiling, and to my great pleasure, I felt the bolt slip. I knew suddenly that we were going to be ok. That the bolts would come off, the spare would go on, and we would get home. Frank and I could do this.

I drove home in my perfect old car to my perfect old house in the perfect snow storm with my extremely perfect kid.

Why was the snowman's dog called 'Frost?'

Cause Frost bites!