Judy, Joyce, and Justine had gone through all twelve years of school together at Our Lady of Immeasurable Concern and graduated as a group in 1964. Joyce and Justine had gone off to college, Joyce at Texas Tech and Justine at UT. Each of them had found husbands and not returned to Fort Stockton. Only Joyce remained in town. She married Harlow, a kid who had graduated a year earlier, and they opened The Blue Collar, the pet store here in town.

When it came time for the 10 year reunion of the class of ’64, the three girlfriends made plans to get together at the Lucky Lady Lounge the night before the festivities being held over at the armory the next day.

It’s always a little dicey seeing folks you used to be friends with but haven’t seen in a long time; the scene was a little strained in the parking lot as the three gathered. Joyce and Justine pulled into the parking lot at just about the same time. Joyce was behind the wheel of a bright red Mercedes Benz 450 SL. Justine was navigating a white on white on white Cadillac Eldorado convertible. The two parked next to each other and were in the middle of a tight embrace as Judy pulled into the lot in her new beige Plymouth Valiant sedan.

“Well,” Justine whispered in Joyce’s ear, “at least it’s a Brougham.” There was a quick group hug outside before the three made their way to a table inside the Lucky Lady.

Joyce was quick to share that her husband owned the Mercedes dealership in Dallas, and she drove a new Benz of her choosing every six months. Justine went on to say that her husband had done well in politics and had been elected mayor of Austin. As a result, she was given use of a brand new Cadillac every spring.

Judy knew that she was a bit out of her element, regarding automobiles, even though Harlow had opted for the top-of-the-line Brougham model. “Harlow can stand all seven of the parrots from the pet store on his member,” she said. Another pitcher of margaritas was ordered. Then another.

After the fourth pitcher, the gals had let down their defenses and were being a lot more honest with each other. Joyce let it be known that her husband had not been filing the payroll taxes for several years and in all likelihood, would lose the dealership by the end of the year. They would probably be ruined.

“If we’re going to be real,” Justine said through tears she could barely choke back, “my husband is being investigated by the Texas Rangers and the FBI for embezzling city funds. There’s a ninety percent chance he’ll being doing time in prison within a year. I’ll certainly never be driving a Cadillac again.”

Judy looked down and twisted the napkin in her fingers. “Honestly,” she told them as she looked up, “the seventh parrot is only standing on one foot.”

Of course, not everyone was man enough to drive a Plymouth Valiant Brougham back in the day. It takes someone special to pull off the ‘beige over beige’ combo. Someone rugged enough to not let the high-pile carpet, a black vinyl roof, and a push button radio go to their heads. It takes a man who can put overriders on his emotions as easily as he can on his bumpers. It takes a man who can hand crank a window and not lose a parrot while doing it. Even the one on the end.