He shouldn't oughta be talking on the phone while driving anyway. Even hands-free devices aren't safe.

You know what's even less safe than talking on the phone or even texting or reading the newspaper while driving? Shaving your cootch, that's what.

Well. You asked.

Florida driver Megan Barnes wins the Lifetime Redneck Achievement Award for her behavior while driving along the Keys on a balmy March day.

Megan decided to mult.i.task, as we all have at one time or another, while she was enroute to a date. But while we've all done dumb things like applying eye shadow or mascara at the stop light when we're running short of time, Megan took the whole grooming-while-driving to new heights. That's right: She decided that she'd use the drive time to spruce up her love rug.

Unfortunately for Megan, this required more attention than she could safely give such an intimate project so, mid-shave, she slammed into the back of a pickup truck at forty-five miles per hour.

That kinda makes the time you drove with your elbows while eating a Whopper seem downright virtuous, doesn't it?

I'm trying to remember back to my driver's education cla.s.ses, and I swear I don't remember Mr. Kilpatrick ever coming right out and saying, "Whatever you do, young ladies, do not ever be tempted to trim your hoohah while you're behind the wheel." No, I would've definitely remembered that, and I'm certain there was no grisly video to watch that showed such behavior.

Ms. Barnes told the investigating officer that she was "on her way to a date and wanted to be ready for the visit."

Yes, she wanted to look her best. All over. Except, well, I've seen Ms. Barnes' mug shot and she has a face that would stop a clock and raise h.e.l.l with small watches. I don't want to sound cruel, but you'd have to be pretty walleyed to even make it as far as her hoohah, bless her heart.

I guess the only thing to be grateful for in this sorry scenario is that Ms. Barnes didn't try to wax her bidness while driving. Imagine the horror if she'd tossed the used wax strips into the waterway as she cruised toward Key West. Talk about saving the manatees. They might've thought those were the pelts of long-lost cousins.

I've driven this particular stretch of highway a few times in my life and it's one of the prettiest drives imaginable: crystal waters, cloudless skies, gorgeous mangroves. Call me crazy but I've never been so bored that I decided to drag a sharp blade over my naughties just to have something to do.

In all fairness, Ms. Barnes was smart enough to realize that she couldn't shave and steer simultaneously so she asked the pa.s.senger in the front seat, who happened to be her ex husband, to take the wheel while she got busy. What a guy! How many men do you know who would help their ex get ready for a big date in quite this manner?

And how did that conversation go, you reckon?

"Here, hon, hold the wheel for a few minutes. I'm gonna hook up with Ray-Ray when we hit Long Key and I wanna try to make it look like a lightning bolt!"

Precious Lord.

Not only did Ms. Barnes' ex agree to take the wheel, but after the wreck, he switched places and tried to take the blame, too.

Unfortunately, his bare chest sold him out. The airbag only deployed on the pa.s.senger side and our white knight (OK, actually more of a p.a.w.n) had the bruises to prove it.

To n.o.body's real surprise, the Florida Highway Patrol quickly discovered that Ms. Barnes didn't have a valid driver's license. Oh, and the day before, she'd been convicted of DUI. (Everybody say, "Noooooooo!!!!!") Oh, and her car had been seized and had no insurance or registration. (It was a Thunderbird, if you were wondering. Yes, she was having fun, fun, fun' til the po-lice took her T-bird awaaaaayyy.) Oh, and she was a probationer. Albeit an impeccably groomed one.

I imagine that Megan Barnes' tale will be legendary in the Keys and beyond for many years to come. And, thanks to her foolishness, there will doubtless be a new warning label on your razors and shaving products. Because every time a dumb a.s.s does something like this, the companies involved feel the need to explain the dangers to prevent possible lawsuits.

Something along the lines of "Warning! Do not attempt to use this razor in the vicinity of your cooter while driving. Failure to use this product in the safety and sanct.i.ty of your bathroom will result in unremitting grossness and possible harm to yourself and others."

Because these warnings must be accompanied by simple drawings that transcend language barriers, it should be one h.e.l.l of a picture, am I right?

I told this story to Randy to get his mind off his own language problems, but it didn't help all that much. He's decided to accept his Aunt Berle's wisdom on such matters.

"She always says that which does not kill us only makes us meaner."

She's a feisty one, that Berle.

28.

Teen Angel While observing, Margaret Mead-style, the behaviors of the older siblings of Sophie's friends, I realized they didn't have any idea that, to me, they were simply Aeropostale-clothed canaries in the p.u.b.erty coal mine-fluttering, daffy, and occasionally mean-as-h.e.l.l canaries that would reveal the future of drama to come.

And now it's here.

Not in a bad way, mostly, maybe just a four on the scale of one to "OMG, you are such a creeper!" shouted at some kid whose only crime was to sit just a little too close on the activity bus. At this tender age, everything is a tad ramped up, hyped, jazzed, and a few other moldy expressions from many decades ago.

Hormones are kicking in around here. What an odd twist of nature that the Princess should be entering this phase of her life at the precise moment that I'm leaving it and pondering the indignity of chin tweezing.

But this is as it should be, and I'm not so old that I don't recall, painfully well, what it was like to be thirteen.

The thing that has puzzled Duh and me in this new phase, as we watch the Princess navigate these never-still waters, is how fickle and fast-moving the relationships are between girl and girl and boy and girl. We have actually dropped her off at the movies with her friends only to hear that, by the time we pick them up, one boy in the group has texted another girl, the girl has responded, and now the original couple has "broken up" after being together, all in less than three hours.

Me: "Why is Paul walking with Sarah when his movie date was Katie?"

Princess: "OhmiG.o.d, that was hours ago. Paul said that he and Katie are going to just be friends."

Me: "But they were boyfriend/girlfriend just three hours ago. What could've possibly changed?"

Princess: "Well, Katie said that Paul was emotionally unavailable while they were getting popcorn and she just doesn't think that she can put up with all the drama."

Me: "What drama? The guy just wants to decide what flavor of frozen c.o.ke he gets."

Princess: "Yeah, but they kinda like other people, anyway."

Me: "They found this out in the time it took to get their snacks and the opening credits to roll?"

Princess: (bored with this) "What? Yeah, I guess so. There's no point in wasting time on a relationship when you know it's not going to go anywhere."

Me: "But it was only sixteen minutes!"

Part of me admires the brisk "cut your losses" mentality of the teen generation but, if this keeps up, marriage vows are going to be hugely problematic.

Minister: " ... to have and to hold from this day forward ... ."

Couple (in unison): "Uhhhhhhhh ... about that ... ."

The phrase "going out" is eternally comical to us, which only irritates the Princess even more.

Princess: "Claire and Michael are going out! They are, like, perfect for each other. They are, like, the ... best ... couple ... ever."

Me: "What do you mean, going out? We used to call it going together or going steady."

Princess: "Same thing, but we call it going out."

Me: "But they don't really go anywhere, do they? You said they were going out, but they've only just talked at school or on the phone, right? That hardly const.i.tutes going out."

Princess: (Deep, impatient sigh): "It doesn't mean they're going out somewhere. G.o.d! Do you always have to make fun of the way I talk?"

Me: "Well, I was just trying to understand."

Princess: "Look, they're going out. And they'll be together tonight when we go to the movies, a bunch of us, if you'll drive us and give me twenty dollars for popcorn 'cause I need to buy some candy for Sophia to pay her back because she loaned me some money last time and she was, like, it's really OK, I don't mind lending it to you and I was, like, well, I hate to take your money because it's really not, like, I have to have Gobstoppers but then she was, like, Oh, no, you have to take it, and I was like ..."

Me: (looking at grocery flier) "Yay! There's a BOGO on nondairy creamer this week!"

Princess: Me: "OK, well, sure, if you owe someone money, you need to pay them back, but you should earn the money from doing ch.o.r.es around the house."

Princess: "It's always all about the money! Oh my G.o.d!"

Me: "OK, honey, let's ratchet it down a few thousand notches, shall we? Go sweep the patio and you can earn some money toward the movie ticket."

Princess: Me: "Or you can stay home with Daddy and me and we'll watch the Andy Griffith Show marathon and pop some corn. It'll be just as much fun as being with your friends!"

Princess: "But I have to go! Everyone else is going! I will physically die if I don't go!"

Uh-huh. Although I know I'm right about this, it's not productive to point out that no one has ever died from not seeing a Johnny Depp movie on the night it opens.

After earning the movie money, there will much angst about What to Wear. Clothes will be pulled off hangers and out of drawers and heaped onto bed and floor before the inevitable wailing.

"I have no clothes," she will say quietly and simply. "None at all. Not. One. Thing."

At this point, I've learned it's not a great idea to point out that, through different combinations and pairings, there are, mathematically speaking, at least 422 possible outfits littering her room, which now looks as though Anthropologie has had a terrible stomach ache and thrown up all over everything.

Cautiously, I pick up a pair of jeans and a cute top from Urban Outfitters. "What about this?"

The Princess gasps. "Oh! I didn't even see that. Thanks, Mommie!"

Logic has no place in these occasional thunderstorm conversations which, as quickly as they arrive, drift out on a Clearasil sea, and she returns, rather like the adorable Regan in The Exorcist after an "episode," with childlike playfulness and affection. Nope, I'm not going to have to summon two priests to the house. Yet.

I feel a little sorry for Duh because he is trapped between two females, both affected by occasional swings of hormonal havoc, and there's really nothing he can do except excuse himself to go "oil the lawnmower," which is unnecessary in January and smacks of snipe-hunting, if you ask me.

The boy/girl stuff is comical but the girl/girl stuff? Not so much. As any parent of a middle-school girl knows, it's possible to be "besties" and "BFFs" with a girl on Wednesday and mortal enemies with her by Friday.

Happens all the time.

In fact, everything happens so much faster now because friends are recruited, courted, and dropped via text or Facebook in a matter of minutes.

I refrain from telling the Princess how it was back in the day when we simply relied on pa.s.sed notes, which seldom made it to their destination but almost always ended up in the teacher's hands. She would sigh at the note's contents, look heavenward and tear it into confetti. No box would be checked "yes" or "no" on matters of utmost importance.

It hurts to be dropped by a friend, and hurts exponentially to be dropped by a pack of 'em. You don't ever really forget that and, if it happens, it's important to take inspiration from whatever role model can offer the most wisdom. In my case, it was a certain prom queen named Carrie.

In the Princess' "posse," there is constant drama, most of it exceedingly silly and, mercifully, patched up by the end of the day. In the meantime, however, there can be tears and recriminations worthy of a Telemundo soap opera.

Verdad that.

Although the technology makes everything faster and more poorly spelled, nothing is really all that different than when I was thirteen.

"Ayden didn't sit with me at lunch because she said that she heard that I said that she was s.e.xting some eighth-grade guy that I don't even know," said a despondent Princess one day.

s.e.xting? s.e.xting???????

I told myself to breathe deeply. What would Carrie do? No, I mean what would a rational, calm super parent do? Who can I channel for something this important? Who????"

Because I get most of my mad parenting skills from watching TV, I decided to use a multifaceted approach from some of the characters we've already discussed here.

Kate Gosselin: "s.e.xting? I believe I need this boy's name and his parents' phone number and I need it yesterday. Do I think he'd be willing to go on my talk show? Yes, I do. I hope so, anyway. It's sweeps month and I need something besides complaining about how much I hate media attention. Somebody call my publicist."

Oprah: "s.e.xting? Is that like the time Stedman emailed me to ask what I was wearing? Of course it turned out that was just so we wouldn't clash on the red carpet ... ."

Dr. Phil: "s.e.xting? How's that workin' for you? Huh? I don't know, I just like asking that. I'm pretty much a doofus. Tennis?"

Betty Draper: "s.e.xting? Young lady, bring me the Lifebuoy this minute. Good. Now open your mouth and do not move until your father comes home. A week from Thursday."

The Neelys: "s.e.xting? Mmmmm. That sounds naisty! We're in!"

My go-to cast of characters was clearly not going to be any help. So I sat down and talked. I talked for a very long time, lovingly and calmly, about all the perils out there and how it will take a strong moral core to deal with them. Throughout, the Princess smiled and nodded and seemed to be taking it all in. Yes, I was parent of the year, br.i.m.m.i.n.g with warmth and wisdom.

And then, she flipped back her hair and I saw the little earbuds. She had been listening to her iPod the whole time!

Utterly defeated, I motioned to her to take out her earbuds.

"Did you hear anything I said?" I asked her, feeling incredibly foolish.

"Hmmm?" she asked, giving me an odd little grin. "Not a word." I turned to leave and got all the way to the door before I heard her say, very softly, "And thanks."

Also by Celia Rivenbark.

You Can't Drink All Day If You Don't Start in the Morning.

Belle Weather.

Stop Dressing Your Six-Year-Old Like a s.k.a.n.k.

We're Just Like You, Only Prettier.