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‘Little car’ rains on her big parade

By RONDA RICH

Let’s just put it this way: it was not the best idea I have ever had.

I have an obsession about trying to help people. I like to put smiles on their faces. Before you think of how sweetly unselfish I am, know this: I do not, however, like for those smiles to come at the expense of removing my own.

That, though, is what happened when I was asked to be grand marshal in a parade.

“We’ll put you in a brand new convertible Mustang and someone will drive you,” explained the parade coordinator.

I thought of my brother-in-law, Rodney, whom I often call my favorite member of the family, having entered our circle when I was 6 and he married my sister. Many times I have warned that if he ever leaves the family, I’m going with him.

Rodney has a little car that he loves and I figured that he would like to drive it in a parade.

“My brother-in-law has a little convertible. I’ll get him to drive me,” I volunteered.

Rodney didn’t act very enthused but that’s normal. It takes a lot to get him excited. He did, however, wash and spiff up the car and he helped with the float of the other divas who decided if I was going to be in a parade, they were, too.

So, they fix themselves up a pretty little tea party-themed float, hitched it to a truck driven by my nephew, and followed Rodney’s little car.

“We’re in training for the Macy Thanksgiving Day parade,” I explained to Rodney who, unimpressed, simply nodded. “This is the first step.”

The sheriff led the parade, turning on his blue light and I, in a puffy pink outfit, perched on top of the car seat.

Gradually, we edged toward the beginning of the crowd and when they saw us, whistles and cheers began immediately.

I wasn’t prepared for the exuberant response but I figured a lot of it must have to do with the fact that I was having a very good hair day. I only have about three a year and, fortunately, parade day was one.

I waved, I smiled and I tossed my well-behaved hair over my shoulder. Then, suddenly, guys of all ages began stepping from the curb and moving joyously toward the car. They applauded. They whistled. They cheered.

I thought happily to myself, “I knew my hair looked good but I didn’t know it looked that good!”

Then, they screamed their first words. “Great car!” “Wow!” “Love your car!”

My bubble burst. How was I to know that a vintage 1963 red and white Chevrolet Corvette could evoke such lust and admiration in men?

That was just the beginning of the misdirected adulation. It continued for the duration of the parade. No one even noticed me. They were too busy looking at the car.

As my spirits drooped, Rodney’s smile grew bigger by the moment. Suddenly, he was enthused.

When the parade ended, my broad-grinning brother-in-law turned and said, “Now, just let me know when we’re going to New York for the parade. I’ll need a few days to drive the car up.”

“You are not going,” I retorted. “I have been shown up by a car for the last time!”

Some things I am capable of learning the first time around. Riding in a car better looking and more popular than me would be one of them.