Now Playing At A New England Household… Multitude Of Them, Actually

“Honey?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Why is our daughter running around the house making zoom-zoom noises?”

“Oh, she’s just pretending she’s Danica.”

“Since when does yogurt make sounds like that? And why is she pretending to be…”

“No, dear. Not Dannon. Danica.”

“Who?”

“You sound like Amanda Brookman.”

“Who?”

“Never mind. Danica Patrick, dear. She’s a race car driver.”

“Since when has our daughter cared about race cars?”

“Since she found out there’s a woman driver… and what a woman…”

“What?”

“Nothing, dear. Anyway, Danica’s her new hero. We’re going to see her this Saturday.”

“See here where?”

“At a race track in New Hampshire. She’s racing.”

“There’s a race track in New Hampshire?”

“Yes, dear. It’s an oval.”

“You say that like it’s supposed to mean something to me.”

“An oval track is… well, oval-shaped.”

“So everyone drives in a circle?”

“Pretty much.”

“Oh, that sounds like a challenge. Tell this Danica person to try maneuvering a SUV in and around fifty others when it’s time to pick your kids up from school.”

“Yes, dear. Try driving at a hundred and thirty miles an hour with cars on all sides inches away from you. Anyway, Danica’s racing at New Hampshire this weekend, and I’m taking Chelsea. It’ll be some daddy-daughter time.”

“More like ‘daddy wrapped around daughter’s little finger’ time. So what kind of racing is this, anyway? Is it like what that cute Helio does? I loved him on Dancing With The Stars.”

“Well, Danica does race in that series. But it won’t be at New Hampshire this weekend. Next year, though. No, this is a different series.”

“Which one?”

“Um… well… NASCAR.”

“What?”

“NASCAR.”

“WHAT?!!”

“Er… NASCAR.”

“You’re taking MY child to NASCAR?”

“Now, dear, she wants to see Danica, and…”

“And nothing! I absolutely forbid it!”

“Now, dear…”

“Don’t ‘now, dear’ me! Under no circumstances will I allow my child to be in a crowd of beer-swilling, foul-mouthed, uneducated, unshaven, unkempt, trailer-trash, redneck…”

“Go ahead and say it, dear.”

“… REPUBLICANS!”

“And you know all this how?”

“I’m well informed!”

“You can’t believe anything you read in the New York Times, dear. Regardless of what you’ve ‘heard,’ the overwhelming majority of NASCAR fans can read and write, have day jobs and don’t change toothbrushes by switching fingers. Also, there are going to be a lot of dads there with their daughters, just like Chelsea and I, to see Danica. I won’t be bringing our daughter home with two tattoos and Budweiser on her breath, promise.”

“Well… if she has her heart set on it, all right. But I’m still not happy about it.”

“Here, dear. I have an idea. Why don’t you come with us to the race?”

“Have you lost your mind? I’d be bored stiff! What possible reason could I have for going?”

“The skill… the competition… oh, and this guy will be driving.”

“So what do you say, dear? Dear? Are you in there? What do you say?”

“BOOGITY BOOGITY BOOGITY!”

“Works every time.”