In my photofantasy interpretation of this week's scene, I suspect that a good looking woman just walked by and is exiting the scene stage right, as it were. Our gentleman observer is gazing intently in that direction and if I'm not mistaken I can see the trace of whistle pucker on his lips. Perhaps he'd be too much of a gentleman to wolf whistle, but his wild side may have been momentarily unleashed. Having known some car-obsessed men, I am surer than sure that he has no interest in the truck.
Let me be clear: I am not an expert on the wolf whistle. The last time I was the recipient of one was some time ago, on my 50th birthday. I was feeling a little down in the dumps as fifty had not yet been sugar-coated and re-positioned as the new thirty. It was just plain fifty and you had to stand up and take it like a man. A big milestone, it seemed perilously close to the end of the road. I was in Seattle, filling my car at a gas station; the fog was thick and admittedly, there was distance involved - the whistler being about 50 feet away. Wafting through the murky air toward me (I did check around to make sure I was the only female in the vicinity), that unmistakeable whistle landed right smack in the middle of my flagging ego. The blues were dispatched forthwith and my mood turned around. I walked over to the whistler, thanked him for his attention and told him how he'd made my 50th birthday. I didn't realize at the time it would be the final whistle or I would have been even more effusive!
When I got home that night and coyly told my gear-head husband the story he looked at me and without missing a beat had the gall to suggest the whistler might have been expressing admiration for the candy apple red Pantera (his) that I was driving! Don't you wonder what marriage handbook he was reading? I can tell you hell hath no fury like a 50 year old woman whose whistles been taken away. After spending the night sleeping in the car my EX husband had to agree that he might have chosen something else to say.
It only took a decade or so for me to forgive my ex-husband. He had long since driven out of my life in his Pantera and I was ensconced in a new life with a BMW. Sixty, the new fifty, came along much more easily and I happily settled into being a senior. Once in a while I think nostalgically about that final whistle and consider "paying it forward" by whistling at an aging man. When I'm alone or out in the grove, I practice and can state with some confidence that I can squeeze out a pretty good wolf whistle. One day, the perfect situation will arise and I'll be ready to lay the sound out on some older guy, shuffling along in the nursing home or on the putting green. I'm shooting for something like this....
Oh, oh...have I said too much?