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How the Moon Roof Got Its Name

Now a “sun roof”  makes sense, but “moon roof” needs a bit of explanation … and as far-fetched as it might sound, I think I may have had something to do with it … my college girlfriend, Karen, and me, I should say…

Now Karen was the perfect college girlfriend. Chestnut hair cut in a funky bob, she had big brown eyes and a wicked smile. Long legs in cutoff jeans that were always a bit too short, she never wore a bra on her A-cup breasts (she had a button that proudly proclaimed she was a member of the “Itty Bitty Titty” club). I don’t remember how we met. My first memory of her is an early October night, with a huge orange harvest moon taking up most of the starry sky. It was quiet except for Van Morrison’s “Moon Dance” playing out of a distant dorm room window … and we were beside the lake, in a large pile of crunchy brown, yellow, and red maple leaves. I remember seeing the reflection of that moon in her eyes as she would open and close them in rhythm as we moved, locked together ... mmm … Oh! Sorry! This is supposed to be about the “moon roof”… So:

Karen was a cutie who also had a penchant for mixed metaphors (I’m sunk up a tree!), lapses in audio cognition (Springsteen’s “10th Avenue Freeze Out,” was sung loudly as “Don’t Let the Bees Out”) and occasional gaps in logic that is source of this particular story … that and my little green Porsche 914 with removable “targa” roof  and full width roll bar mounted behind the two seats of the cockpit.

I had sold my father’s V8 Buick to my roommate for $800 when I finally saved up enough and found a good, clean used 914. It was summer, and my roommate and I were headed home from the two bedroom apartment we shared in Trenton. We each had our girlfriends in our respective cars and as it turned out, we were both headed up the Garden State Parkway north at the same time. Karen and I were behind, windows up, roof off, doing eighty when Karen spotted the silver Buick up ahead. “Catch up! Catch up! Karen shouted over the wind. “Why?” I asked, as she grimaced at my “obviously stupid” question. I should have known what was about to happen, but sometimes you give ’em the benefit of the doubt…

So punching it up to ninety and darting between the slowly moving “Bennies” coming back from the Jersey shore, I am in fifth gear and rapidly sliding up next to the Buick. I could see my roommate and his girl, both facing forward when … it … happened … Karen, using a part of her brain that was not in shape from regular exercise, reached down deep to pull out this outstanding gem of convolution. As we neared one hundred miles per hour, Karen removes her seatbelt and proceeds to stand up! “DEAR HOLY MOTHER OF GOD … KAREN!”  I screamed as the hurricane force wind hit her, gluing her tank top to the erected nipples of her tiny breasts before it spinning her around and throwing her over the back of the car. In one motion, lifting my foot off the gas, I spun my body and threw my right arm out just in time to seize the belt that wrapped the top of her “Daisy Dukes” as her stomach hit the roll bar. The Porsche was still moving fast and her body slid further down the trunk as the back of her short shorts stayed firmly fixed in my grasp. This caused Newton’s first and third laws of motion to come into effect; her pants stayed at rest as her body was in motion, thus revealing the whole of her rather cute bum. As we passed my roommate and his girl, Karen was bent in half, with her two well rounded cheeks facing skyward, positioned at the exact top center of the Porsche’s roll bar, like some “Playboyesque” version of a police car. Karen was our siren, screaming (of course). We got down to about fifty when I finally got her back into her seat.

After and minute or two of shocked silence and heavy breathing, Karen, red-faced, turns to me and asks sheepishly, “Do you think they saw me?”

So that my friends, at least in my mind, is how the “moon roof” got its name.