It is possible there is no group more predisposed to magical thinking than teenage girls.
When you hear the song on the radio - you know the one - the special one that makes you think about that cute boy you like - you know the one - the one with the slow smile and the tan muscular arms - or the one who always wears his football jersey and seems kind of shy - or the one with the flashy car and and the deep hazel eyes - or the one who made you laugh that time in science class.
When the song comes on you have to start driving as fast as you can. Or as fast as you dare without getting a ticket while you are driving your moms Thunderbird, or your moms Chevrolet. You start driving as fast as you can to the street where they live, to the house you know so well, you practically know how many bricks tall it is, you know the petunias are slightly wilting in the late summer heat, you know the dad might be out front with his hose and you hope - you really really hope he won't be there because if he is you'll have to drive by so fast that you won't be able to really check out the house, to see if his car might be in the driveway, to see if the window that you are pretty sure is his is possibly offering a glimpse or even just a shadow that might be him.
The game is this - if you can get to his house before the song ends, if you can drive by his house while it is still playing, it is the best of Omens. It is the omen that says all those times you stared at his arms during class, all those times you listened for his name on the radio while the game was broadcast, all those times you melted when he smiled at you, all those times you thought for sure you were going to be the future Mrs. Football, the future Mrs. Deep Hazel Eyes, the future Mrs. Electric Guitar Player, the future Mrs. Science Partner, the future Mrs. Yellow Convertible - all those times are destined to come true.
|This was our attempt at a version of punk rock band called "hot rash"|
|In our more usual state as nice mormon girls|
|when your parents say you are too young to date so you all go to the 9th grade dance together|
|when you decide to all be in the "future homemakers of America" club|