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Columnist Tries To Play Cupid

“I met all my wives in traffic jams. … There’s something women like about a pickup man.” - from the country hit “Pickup Man” by Joe Diffie.

He roared from out of nowhere in his big macho pickup truck. She gazed up at the dark stranger from her cute little Honda.

He honked. She honked back.

He followed her for three miles, snaking in and out of traffic. Flashing his lights.

He waved. She waved back.

It ended at Francis and Addison when she turned north and he cruised west.

Since the early evening encounter last Friday, Jeanette Rockstrom, 26, can’t stop wondering what was on this mystery man’s mind:

Was it love at first sight or an attempted carjacking?

“What if I lost Mr. Right at a fork in the road?” asks Jeanette with a sigh. “I don’t know if it was love, but there definitely was something there.”

Jeanette wants to find the guy. She’d love to go dining and dancing by Valentine’s Day but doesn’t know how to find him.

Fortunately, the young woman knew where to turn for help when it comes to a matter of the heart.

“I thought about taking out one of those personals ads or calling a radio station,” she adds. “For some reason, your name popped into my head.”

As Jeanette probably sensed, I am the Fred Astaire of the courtship dance.

Way back in college, I spotted a comely young brunette from across a large room. I’d never seen her before. We’d not exchanged so much as a word.

For inexplicable reasons, my heart began pounding the drum solo to “Wipe Out.” She was The One.

“I’m gonna marry her,” I told several of my friends, including Bob Hoover, who will vouch for this.

I spent the next two weeks playing Sherlock Holmes. I learned who the gorgeous babe was and talked one of her friends into introducing me.

It has been 22 blissful years since we married, and the lava lamp of love is still on high.

The moral of my story, of course, is that if you follow my example in the oversensitive 1990s, the cops will haul you into jail as a stalker.

Jeanette, are you out of your freaking mind?

This dude in the truck could be a serial killer. Even worse, he could be a philandering, out-of-work bum with eight kids.

“I didn’t see a ring,” she says.

While the guy played road tag, Jeanette tried to pull over. But her sister, Lori Whitman, who was riding shotgun in the Honda, kept Jeanette from doing anything stupid.

“She’s a lot more aggressive than me,” says Lori, 36. “Sometimes you just have to tell her, `No, No, No!”’ Trouble is: Jeanette’s heart is hollering, “Yes, Yes, Yes!”

So here’s a message to Mr. Truckster:

If you’re the guy who flexed his horsepower at the cute single woman in the silver Honda last Friday, call me at 459-5432. If you don’t have a prison record and your story and your references check out, I’ll put you in touch.

“It was a 1970-72 Chevy half-ton,” explains Jeanette. “Must’ve had a 454 engine because it was so loud. He knew I was looking at it; he kept gunning the engine and making it buck.”

Jeanette, who is 5-foot-1 and weighs 106 pounds, says nothing thrills her more than “loud motors and big trucks.”

Apparently, the driver wasn’t too shabby either. Jeanette says he had dark hair and a mustache and was wearing what looked like a mechanics jacket.

“I like guys who get dirty, with grease under their fingernails,” she says. “I don’t like guys who are wimpy.”

Now Spokane must hold its breath and wait.

Will true love find Jeanette Rockstrom? Or will her hopes be tossed off the cliffs of despair and onto the sharp-edged rocks of disappointment?

Stay tuned to see what happens next.

“Quite frankly, it was the truck that attracted me first,” says Jeanette. “So if I meet him and things don’t work out, maybe he’ll sell it to me.”

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