Somewhere, someone digs it

I was test driving a Porsche Boxster S last Sunday morning in Hyde Park, upstate New York.

I saw three teenage girls in blue t-shirts and white shorts bobbing up and down holding signs reading “Car wash!” My ride was full of dust, fingerprints and bugs, and I was planning to have it washed anyway---to photograph it for the Job.

I slowed down next to the ladies, beeped and pointed this way and that way---which way, guys? They smiled and pointed me in the proper direction, I made the next right and was directed to the back of a building where 6 more women dressed alike waited with hoses, buckets, rags, desolvents---all the ingredients of a car wash.

“What’s this in aid of?” I asked.
“We’re raising money for cheerleading!”
I'm pro-cheer. On I inched.

A middle-aged man with a donation bucket approached. I threw in a sawbuck, got out of the car, let the girls do their magic, and I noted a few things.

Some guys are really into that "women washing cars" thing. You see those scenes in calendars in gas stations and such. I mean it really sends ‘em over the top. I’m a fan of women drinking coffee, talking, swimming, walking, doing women things, just being women. Mrs. M and I often make fun of net women working in the "modeling" profession who grab one appendage and hold it up to their mouth with crossed eyes, for example.

As I sat waiting for my car to be washed, I started thinking of the older men who would have their Jaguar/Porsche/BMW/Benz rinsed specifically for the purpose and pleasure of seeing these young ladies doing it. Somewhere, that's someone's thing.

The ladies, it also must be said, were not attired in habits. Some wore shorts cut up-to-here, two healthy, gleaming, smooth young thighs exposed. (I peeked!) One wore what appeared to be a nightie---literally, she looked as though she was ready to say goodnight. Others bent wayyyyy over, showing the world their fannies.

I thought, “I should really shoot this for my blog.” But then you’d be one of those guys.

There is another aspect. In my travels in the world of tantra, in India and Amsterdam, I learned that some women, who are in charge of divvying out what men turn into dawgs for, learn at a very early age how to walk, talk, stand and be in order to attract the maximum amount of attention, first with their fathers, and then with others, to arrange the world in their favor.

It is not a crime---I also attempt to arrange the world in my favor, in everything I do and everywhere I go. It is a survival mechanism, and it's usually what the youngest in any family does. When such energy is directed at me from women, I try not to fall for it, and almost never succeed. In fact, I am a complete mess when so much as a pair of eyes are batted in my direction.

There was no batting at the car wash, and no furtive hee-hee glances. I just noticed. And listened to that thundering, unspoken mantra of the Western world: “YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO FIND ANYONE ATTRACTIVE UNTIL THAT CLOCK TICKS FROM AGE 17 AND 15/16 TO AGE 18. PLEASE AVERT EYES.”

I averted, took no pics, and marveled once again at this great big goofy world where everyone and everything ----the trees, the animals, the insects, the primates and the humans---procreate. How each creature attracts other creatures, to keep the planet populated. Some do a special dance, some fight other critters for the right to impregnate the queen, and others buy Porsches.

But sometimes a car wash is just a car wash.