STRANGER THAN FICTION: RACING LEAVES AUDIENCE IN THE DUST

It can't be proven on paper, but I'm beginning to believe one gender may be just a little bit more selfish than the other. I don't mean to sway anyone with my personal beliefs, so I won't name genders.

Just draw your own conclusions from the following account.

My good friend Patrick and I met years ago when I worked for another newspaper and he was doing public relations for a race track. We had a few things in common, liked each other and, after awhile, we started making sheep's eyes at each other.

That sheep's eyes expression always cracked me up. Baaaaa.

Before Patrick, I didn't know diddly about car racing, or any racing, for that matter. Like many women my age, I thought a "sprint" was what you did on your way to the restroom after a three-hour drive. A "late model" was Cindy Crawford arriving an hour tardy for the Oscars. And a "street stock," well who knows?

Come to find out those things are various types of race cars. Patrick, a member of the Doe family (names have been changed to protect the innocent), was born recognizing those cars because of his genetic makeup.

The Doe family is like none other I've met. It has three current and two retired race car drivers in it. They talk about increasing horsepower over dinner, and Mother Doe actually speaks about it with some authority.

As Patrick and I got to know each other, I got to know the Doe family, and one day, they invited me to Batesville, Ark., to watch Patrick's younger brother race.

Cool, I thought. Time to impress the folks.

I broke out my dress pants and white blouse, loafers, leather jacket and contact lenses.

When Patrick picked me up at home, it was his chance to say, "You stupid fool, change into something that won't make you look like an alien being at the race track!"

But he didn't.

See, racing is a very dirt-oriented sport. If the weather is dry, you get dust all over you. If it's wet, you get mud all over you.

It was a dry day when I stood in Batesville, Ark., surrounded by people in T-shirts and jeans wearing flannel button-ups to keep warm. Within minutes, I was caked in dirt. Then it started to rain.

If young Doe's transmission hadn't dropped out of his race car when it did, I would be standing there today caked in mud, a tribute to women's vanity.

The Doe family wasn't impressed with me.

Things eventually fizzled between Patrick and me, probably as a result of my guttural moans on the way back from the race track. "My jacket! My dear, dear jacket!" I cried pitifully.

But we stayed in touch, and I figured Patrick should return the favor and accompany me someplace. Why should only one of us be miserable? Why shouldn't HE have to go to something that I would enjoy?

I called to tell him about the International Dinner and Dance tonight at Southeast Missouri State University. I read that, for the bargain price of $6 a ticket, one could dine on exotic foods, watch live entertainment and then dance the night away to the sounds of Fergie and her Fabulous Orchestra.

Just kidding on the Fergie part.

I called Patrick to ask him along.

"I really can't go," he said. "I have to work all day Saturday and then practice with the church choir for our Easter performance. But thanks for asking."

Talk about selfish. Sometimes a girl just can't win.

~Heidi Nieland is a member of the Southeast Missourian news staff.