In honor of my family being in town for a few days, here's a repost of one of our more mortifying family memories.
(Originally posted July 20, 2009)
Once upon a time there was a sixteen year old named Brandi. She was happily living in the Connecticut suburb of Fairfield, hanging out with friends she'd had since she was eleven, growing up among children of The Very Wealthy and even a few future celebrities like John Mayer (jerk) and Justin Long (nice guy) .
Out of the blue, her evil parents decided that it would be a good idea to pack up and move from the cultured, well-bred suburb thirty minutes outside of New York City to the back of beyond in Evanston, Wyoming.
Brandi kicked and screamed and hated her evil parents, but she had no choice but to go.
Eventually she settled into life in Rube-ville, where the only claim to fame is that it's the training location for the Jamaican Bobsled Team. Where the only place to shop is Wal-Mart, and the only things to do for fun are setting off fireworks and getting knocked up. She even managed to make a few good friends.
During the summer after she graduated from high school, Brandi's evil parents moved the whole family into their tiny pop-up camper (long, sad tale about a contract on a house gone sour). Needless to say, quarters were tight and there was no privacy in the camper in Rube-ville. Brandi spent most of her time with her friends and at work anyway.
Since she and her friends were not into fireworks and getting knocked up, they found entertainment in piling into a four-wheel drive vehicle and driving recklessly through the back country. Sometimes they'd spot other vehicles out in the hills. Parked. These would be occupied by the kids who were into getting knocked up.
One form of amusement for Brandi and her friends, when a parked vehicle was spotted out in the dark, secluded hills, was to turn off all the lights and slowly drive up behind the parked vehicle. Usually, the occupants of the parked vehicle were too, umm...busy...to notice Brandi and her friends approaching. Once in position directly behind the parked vehicle, they would turn on the high beams (and fog lights, if available). Hilarity would ensue.
One cool summer night Brandi and her friends were out riding around in the sagebrush covered hills just outside of Rube-ville, when off in the distance they could see a parked car. They turned off the lights and made their approach. When the high beams were engaged, what to their wondering eyes should appear but a white Pontiac Grand Am with Connecticut license plates.
And to this day Brandi's friends will not let her forget about "that one time, when we caught your parents parking..."