Spit up and the Suburbs

No matter how much she cringed at the sight of them, the truth was, both Trish and Lanie served an important purpose in the community: saving moms like Alyssa from having to spend even ten seconds at a nauseating PTO meeting.

Indeed, these ladies could plan a fall party for 9-year-olds with purpose akin to doing God’s work on Earth. Was that “Hallelujah” that started spontaneously descending from the heavens when the trendiest angels on terra firma had handed out juice boxes to the bike riding set at the last class party? Alyssa was pretty sure she’d heard hymns emanating from AES at that very moment.

Live up to the standards these ladies set? Dream up class party games and prizes, field trips and teacher gifts that could come close to theirs? Ha! Since this was an impossibility, and the reality was that she didn’t aspire to, Alyssa was willing to lose a little face in front of the half pint-sized CrossFitter to benefit the greater good. 

Her new scheme to out Lanie for the Almería elitist she really was came together rather easily, given that her daughter Bryn’s best friend Romney lived next door to the Lamonds. Romney’s bike just happened to be in the Keadons’ garage at the moment, left over from a Wednesday-night ride that ended in a thunderstorm. Alyssa texted Romney’s mom Stacey and confirmed it was OK  to drop off the bike Thursday afternoon, say, around 1:45. 

“Sounds good,” came the response. “Thanks.” Stacey wasn’t one for chatting it up too much, since of course, she was a PMSer, and likely couldn’t be bothered to get to know Alyssa too much, lest she risk social suicide. Good thing her blase attitude toward Alyssa hadn’t poisoned their daughters’ friendship, although it was so obvious that Stacey had no interest in getting to know Alyssa that even Bryn noticed. “Mom, why doesn’t Miss Stacey ever talk to you?” she questioned one day after Romney had come over to play, and her mom picked her up with a curt “hi,” “thanks,” and “byeee.” 

“Dunno,” Alyssa answered casually, laughing off Bryn’s inquiry before she got too deep into probing the social hierarchy of the community. 

On this particular afternoon, Alyssa maneuvered Romney’s pink beach cruiser into the trunk of the family’s Cadillac just before 1:45 and drove the short distance over to Presumida Court. She had just pulled up to Romney’s (impressively large)  house when she saw Lanie backing her spotless Range Rover out of what looked like a professionally-organized garage, with Cruella de Vil haste. 

That was Alyssa’s cue to position her SUV so that the back was just hanging over enough to block the Lamonds’ driveway ever so slightly, but so that Lanie would not be able to back out without reversing onto her perfectly-manicured lawn or hedgerow—or smashing into the mailbox on the other side. 

Next, with the boys simultaneously munching puffs and singing “Up Butt Coconut” (don’t ask) at the top of their lungs, Alyssa took her time hopping out of the driver’s seat of her car and meandering to the trunk, popping it open and oh-so-carefully removing the beach cruiser. Lanie had already floored it down to the bottom of her long driveway, and was now craning her head around to glare out the back windshield at Alyssa through a pair of Valentino shades. 

“Sorry,” Alyssa mouthed, her head tilted to the side in her best puppy dog who just chewed on your couch but is too cute to get mad at expression, while taking her sweet time wheeling the bike up the equally-long driveway to Romney’s family’s front porch. Next, she fiddled with the kickstand just long enough for her efforts to land somewhere between convincing and pathetic. Then, it was time for Alyssa’s flip flop to slide off. Oops, her messy mom bun was falling out and needed a re-do. 

Lanie was starting to roll down her window, probably to fire off a terse reminder that school was letting out, when Alyssa finally made it back to the Caddy and waved in an overly-friendly manner for someone to be looking at you like you are the scum of the earth. Then, she gingerly slid into the driver’s seat, and put the car into gear. 
She’d barely moved up an inch before Lanie frantically maneuvered around Alyssa’s car and started flying up the street toward the school. Please let this work, Alyssa thought. She’d only know for sure once she returned to Bonita Lane.