One of the joys of living in a seasonal resort town is the sudden influx after the holidays, when the population swells to double its size. So yesterday, as I waited out the second light at the same interchange, I experienced some unexpected relief. The perfectly ordinary hatchback stopped directly in front of me was plastered with all sorts of bumper stickers. There was the old NRA "Charlton Heston is my president" and the somewhat sexist "I brake for saucy wenches." That one started me looking for the male counterpart to wench. Yeoman really pertains to occupation. I guess it would be churl, but that really refers to socioeconomic status, not to mention it's more ill-mannered connotations. Varlet is too villainous. I knew there was a word hovering on the edge of my mental stratosphere, but alas it refused to make itself known.
Returning to my perusal of the car, I noted the snide, "Got brains?" The philosophical, "Before you criticize someone, walk a mile in his moccasins. That way if he gets mad, he'll be a mile away with no shoes." And the outstanding, "I'd rather go hunting with Dick Cheney than riding in a car with Ted Kennedy."
It was with disappointment, I noticed the third light change and the traffic beginning to move. Ah, what would life be without serendipitous moments of grace.