When I was growing up, horns on cars around here were used about as often as snow shoes and chopsticks.
In other words, never.
Horns were for big cities with lots of traffic. Horns were for rude, impatient people. People who used them were either Yankees or just not right–the same people who put dark meat in their chicken salad and let their children go to town barefoot.
I imagine that the horns on all the various cars we had growing up rusted from disuse. They just sat there on the steering wheel, wishing they’d been shipped anywhere but Franklin, Tennessee.
But somewhere along the way I discovered what happened when I pushed on the center of my steering wheel–I got everyone’s attention.
And if there’s one thing I like, it’s attention.
Take too long at a red light? HONK.
Cut in front of me in traffic? HONK.
Have a Sarah Palin sticker on your bumper? HONK.
But the other day, my horn just wasn’t getting the job done. A merging car tried to merge right into me. I honked and honked and closer and closer she came. I had no where to go and she was just inches away. I was could see her silver fender closing in on my silver fender. And I kept honking.
Finally she came to and realized what she was doing.
I honked once more for good measure and went on my way. When I got home, I told husband I needed a louder horn.
“Mmmm,” he said, “le’t go look under your hood.”
Husband is exceedingly gifted when it comes to mechanics and he quickly diagnosed the problem. Turns out, I actually have TWO horns, but one was unplugged.
Ha–now my horn is louder than ever. And also quite harmonic.
So I have gone to the dark side when it comes to horns. But I will never, ever put dark meat in my chicken salad.