Free Aunt Erma's Cope Book by Erma Bombeck

usual place. At the sound of the tone, tell me what time you'll be here.”
    No one was a person of mystery any more.
    The T-shirt craze had clearly gotten out of hand. In one day alone I encountered three propositions, four declarations, two obscene suggestions, and a word so bad I stopped the car and threw a blanket over the girl's chest.
    Mother was with me one day when I stopped for a traffic light and a healthy blonde with jeans so tight her hipbones looked like towel hooks crossed in front of the car. Tucked inside was a T-shirt that read in large, bold letters SPACE FOR RENT.
    We didn't say anything for a full minute. Then Mother observed, “You can say what you want, but she certainly is well read.”
    Well read, indeed. I could be clever if I wanted to. My car license was up for renewal. Maybe I'd go for something kinky on my plates.
    “How many letters do we have to work with?” asked my husband.
    “Six,” I said.
    “Great,” said my son. “How about BEWARE?”
    “Or GAS HOG?”
    “Aw, c'mon,” I said, “I want a plate that won't have people passing me at seventy-five miles an hour just to see what kind of a nut is behind the wheel. I was thinking more of a plate that would give me character ... a self-description that would be unique and apply only to me.”
    “How many letters in DRUDGE?” asked my son.
    We must have sat there another two hours trying to get a six-letter combination. Finally I said, “I've got it. How about VIT B-12? What do you think?”
    “I think you have just solved the problem of the kids ever borrowing your car again.”
    Having personalized license plates was a step forward in revealing my mystique, but I wasn't sure I wanted people sitting around reading my entire body. According to the book Edna loaned me (Body English Spoken Here) it wasn't that hard to do.
    Women who crossed their legs in cold weather were announcing they wanted attention. In hot weather, they were bragging.
    Doctors who tapped pencils were reassuring themselves they hadn't lost them during an examination.
    Men who removed their wedding rings while attending a convention in another city were saying they didn't care whether they lived or died.
    Women who covered the telephone receiver when they listened were hearing something they shouldn't.
    Teeth closing in on a dentist's hand is definitely interpreted as a hostile act.
    But it worked both ways. If I could learn Body English I'd be able to read what other people were thinking even if they did not utter a single word. There was an entire section on the subtle signs men and women who are on the make exchange that was absolutely fascinating.
    This was a subject I couldn't even draw on from memory. It had been too long. I wouldn't know a pitch if I struck at it.
    Body English Spoken Here made me an authority. I felt I could interpret any subtlety the opposite sex threw at me. I didn't have a chance to test it until one afternoon when Mayva and I stopped shopping to grab a bite of lunch.
    At a table a short distance from us were two men who glanced our way.
    “Don't look at them,” I said without moving my lips. “I can tell you that men mentally raise the hemline of a woman's skirt six inches if she wears lipstick.”
    Mayva rummaged in her handbag. “Do I have any left on?”
    “If you look them in the eye and their pupils dilate, you're in over your head.”
    “What other goodies do you know?”
    “I know that when you are flirting your eyes become less baggy, your jowls firm up, your shoulders become straighter, and you suck in your stomach without thinking about it. And if you put on your glasses, you'll look more intelligent than you really are.”
    Mayva gave a sharp cry. “What am I saying? Quick? One of them is coming over toward us.”
    “Did you cross your legs?” I whispered loudly. “That's a come-on. Or unbutton your jacket? Or moisten your lips? Tell me you didn't moisten your lips.”
    “I don't think so,” said Mayva.
    “Then