(Yeah, back when I wrote this I was a little long on the superlatives.)

Of side oilers, & snake hips

Sometimes, weird things happen to everyday people, and yes, this story is true. There’s just no way I could ever make up something this far out!

A few years back, we (well...I) bought a nice Bronco XLT. Small problems began to surface (of course!) shortly after we bought it. My wife and I (my wife told me…) decided the Bronco had to go and it was placed in the local advertiser for a very low price.

“Just get rid of it!” I was instructed.

Shortly thereafter a buyer showed up, kicked the tires, and took it for a short drive. He then said he needed to have his wife look at it (of course...let's see if the little woman likes the interior and the paint scheme matches the bow in the poodles’ hair. One potential sale down the toilet). Grrrr. We drove to a professional office complex where the local surgeons, lawyers, and other professionals whom I can’t begin to afford have their offices.
In less than a minute, this guys’ wife came outside.

(Drum roll please)

Words can’t describe what happened next.

As the entry doors parted like the Red Sea I could hear the background music start. High heels, and slinky long pants barely held the image beneath them. Coming right at me was this visage moving in slow motion. Traffic stopped as she strutted by. Boys sitting on the curb in open mouth disbelief dropped their Sports Illustrated swim suit edition as that issues cover model stepped off the page and glided past them like a like frog walking through a swamp. I’m not sure, but I think I dimly recall a stage hand holding a fan blowing her long hair as she walked toward us. This woman looked like the Playmate of the decade only she was:

1. Fully clothed.
2. Prettier.

Looking the Bronco over, she glanced at me and said; “Yours?” (Naw, wifes car… I drive the Lamborghini…really!!). Rolling her head as her long hair wisped over her shoulder she said, "Pop the hood".

Huh? Pop the hood?
She glanced in at the engine, then coming back to the drivers window stated; “Pretty straight forward… typical Cleveland 351 side oiler.”

Yeah right.
I’ll bet back in high school her boyfriend was a low-browed mouth breather who had a Ford, and the only thing he could say was, “Yeah, she’s a pretty typical, straight forward Cleveland 351 side oiler.” Which mantra I’m sure he droned on for hours. I’ll bet I could have brought in a Yugo and she would have said; “Yeah, she’s a typical 351 side oiler.”

Hah! What’s a girl know about them thar cars anyway?

She then went back to the engine bay. Sitting in the drivers seat I could catch glimpses of her between the bodywork and the hood. She was facing off with that engine like a Greenbay Packer lineman ready to kill the nearest quarterback. As I watched, she snapped to with all the precision of a battle hardened soldier field stripping an M-16.

At her command I fired up the great beast and after a minute of running she said to shut it off, which upon so doing presented us with a cacophony of squeals and grinding coming from the engine bay. I apologized and said that I had just replaced the starter and the Bendix gear must not be disengaging. She came back with;

"No, that’s always caused by (insert technical jargon here) and it's fairly endemic to certain Fords, that didn’t meet the dealer recall, especially the years (blah, blah, blah, to blah, blah) and that have the (insert more technical talk) with the blah, blah." “It’s an easy fix… we'll take it."

I then watched her turn and in super slow motion strut back to the office while in my head Jimi Hendrix laid-down a hot rendition of Foxy Lady. As the doors gently shut behind her I was snapped back to this world by the sound of a phonograph needle screeching across an old LP.

What seemed like minutes passed as I sat slack jawed, looking much like a hippo at the zoo waiting for tourists to toss in Juji Fruits. I turned to her husband and said, "Ok, tell me. What just happened?"

He explained that her dad owned a farm and would only buy Fords. All his sons were to know how to do anything to any Ford, any where and at any time. Only thing was, he didn't have sons, just daughters. When this woman was growing up on the farm (this is a farm girl??) she was able to remove an engine, tear it down, rebuild it, and put it back in the vehicle. Dad brought all the big Ford farm equipment to her for trouble shooting and getting it back into the fields as quickly as possible.

(Whatta woman!! Does she have a sister?)

Days later my wife and I breathed a sigh of relief as we stood at the window looking down at the Bronco as the happy couple towed away their new found treasure. I’m sure she rebuilt it and took it to hill climb competitions and mud bog racing where she stomped all the boys.

Oh somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright, and girls are driving Broncos in pants that are too tight. And somewhere men are laughing, and little children shout, ‘cause there’s great joy in Mudville as the Bronco was towed out.

Great story.

Even better was the telling of it.

Rick that was a fabulous piece of writing!! With you sense of humor and that writing style you have desperately missed your calling my friend!!

Sparky

PS: I forwarded your list and video on to my son (Air force) who's first daughter is 9 months old this month. Hopefully my daughter in law (also Air Force) will forgive me........I titled it "the perfect granddaughter"!!!!

No, no...not me. Haven't seen one of those magazines since I was a Junior in high school, and that
was...oh...oh well...a long, long, loooong time ago. Back then the magazine had just graduated from
stone tablets to parchment.
My apologies to Red Skelton, Art Buchwald, and Casey at the Bat. ( http://www.baseball-almanac.com/poetry/po_case.shtml )

Have another story. Yep...it's true.

It's about a friends wife (girlfriend back then) who is not from this country. She was pouring coffee in
a restaurant and didn't recognize the man at the table. "Everybody knows me, I'm (insert name of a
famous guitarist from the '60's and is still performing today)."

But, that's another story for another time.
Gotta get back to moving. This house is supposed to
close in five days and my help has the flu, cold, or the
Lompuckeroo (better known as the "I don't wanna help you move" itis).

-Rick