So, I have a rap problem. I don’t know what it is, but the siren song of it calls to me. Raunchy, misogynistic, whatever. I loves it. My favorite song of late is “Young, Wild and Free” by Wiz Khalifa and Snoop Dogg and featuring Bruno Mars. It’s not particularly hardcore and the radio version is pretty clean. Basically it’s a song about getting high, getting drunk and wreaking youthful havoc, I love love love it not becauses of those reasons but because it’s catchy and fun. Of course I can’t listen to it in either radio or explicit version around my kids, so I took advantage of their being gone for the weekend so get my fill.
Cruising down PCH on a warm, sunny Saturday, I blasted the song on repeat. My windows were down, the sunroof was open and I was singing along at the top of my lungs, possibly thowing in hand gestures and upper body choreography where appropriate (all things being relative). Sounds cool, right? Except my vehicle is a Chevy Traverse, I’m a mom and chasing 40. Oh, and white.
So I drive the coast, having a blast, relaxed and feeling good. Young. Wild. Free. Then I look casually over to my left. Pulled up next to me at the signal is a car full of young black gentlemen, laughing their asses off at me, pointing and giving me thumbs up that I’m pretty sure weren’t sincere. Could I be more uncool? No, I could not.