Cinderella’s Coach

Cars have always been my passion, from early teens continuing through today. It was more fun to fantasize over cars in my teens when they were sexy, sleek, and unapproachable, sort of like that cute blonde cheerleader. Today, I couldn’t even twist myself into a 300SL much less afford one. If I approached that cute cheerleader, she’d spray mace at me, run, and there’s no way I could catch her.

Enough fantasizing, back to the cars. Cars to a teenage boy were everything, freedom, status, coming of age, and bait in the great sport of fishing, fishing for girls—that is.

I have to digress again; we Seniors do a lot of that. I’ll never forget one of the most embarrassing dates I ever had. There was an attractive blonde in my grade who had some prodigious assets, you know what I mean. Don’t you? Sure you do. She brightened my day whenever she greeted me. I wasn’t one of the more popular kids, sorta tubby (I would have fit in better with today’s obese generation of kids) and I didn’t have a car

A Sweetheart ball was going to be held at a Masonic Hall. I just had to ask her. I practiced asking my mother out and after much coaching I felt I was ready. I hesitantly approached her and stuttered and sputtered an invitation. Was that a yes, had I actually heard a yes from this dream girl? Yes, I had.

How would we get there? I’d ask one of my friends to go with me! Bill had a black 49 Ford that was lowered in back and painted with flames, even had Laker plugs. Fabulous car, Cinderella’s coach couldn’t have been any better—except—two days before the dance Bill told me he was sorry he would not be able to go.

What do you mean you can’t go? I need you there, or at least Cinderella needed her coach.

I tried to make other arrangements, with no success. I had no choice but to tell Cinderella that I was sorry the ball was cancelled, at least for us.

I approached her and told her that Bill could’nt make it and we had no ride. Surprisingly, she said that she would rather just be with me. Then she added–we could take the bus—

Take the bus! Would Prince Charming have taken Cinderella on the bus? Of course not! But, I was not Prince charming and Cinderella said she wanted to be with me.

I showed up at her house carrying an orchid corsage, she greeted me at the door wearing a frothy white dress with a blue ribbon and lace directly under her breast line (oops, I meant bust line) she was beautiful and reminded me of a cotton candy cone. She took me to meet her mother and her mother pinned the corsage onto her gown, told us to be careful and have fun.

We boarded the bus and all of the townspeople watched my Cinderella work her way down the aisle, trying not to snag her gown on any of the seats. Their attention then turned to me and I could hear them thinking, couldn’t she do any better than that—, that being me.

I don’t remember the rest of the night, I had reached the nadir of self-respect. No one, absolutely, no one would ever or had ever taken Cinderella to the ball on a bus. The fascination that I had for her was completely erased and it was sometime before my self-esteem allowed me to ask another girl out.

How many of you can top my embarrassment on a data.

Let me hear from you.

3 thoughts on “Cinderella’s Coach

  1. In my late teens, I drove an old car with an air intake issue. The repairs were too costly, so every time the engine would shutdown, I pulled out a long screwdriver from the glove compartment and “unclogged” the pipe. While going to the mall with a friend on a hot summer day in search of some AC, the engine shut down. I managed to pull the car over to the curb, but the “unclogging” method wasn’t working. Two policemen in their cruiser decided to stop. I guess two teenaged girls in shorts playing mechanic might have looked suspicious. They gave us a ride to the closest phone booth about three blocks away. During that short ride, we hit every red light. People stare at passengers in the back of a cruiser! There was a cage between us and the policemen! They had to open the door from outside to let us out! I was mortified. I never want to experience that again. Thank you.

    • Old cars are like old people crotchety and troublesome. I had a 57 MGA roadster that did not want to wake up from sleep and run. sometimes in the winter I had to reach into the side pocket of the door, draw out a can of ether. I sprayed ether into the carburetor, pulled out the choke, got the crank out from behind the seat, walked around the front of the car, inserted the crank in the hole in the bumper and turned the crank. (There’s some new terms for a lot of you young whippersnappers, choke, crank.) If I was lucky it started.

      I used to wait until everyone left the parking lot so no one could see me get out of this sexy little black sports car with red leather seats and wire wheels with knockoff hubs—and perform the starting ritual.

      I won’t tell you what it did in the springtime, unless you ask nicely. LOL

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *