Three chicks and a pickup truck

That was us, about an hour ago, attempting to jump-start my neighbor's car.

My neighbor (the deep-dish diva) needed the jump. Her friend had the pickup. I just happened to wander outside and got involved.

Seeing as how all the men in the area mysteriously disappeared into their houses as soon as the jumper cables were pulled from the trunk, I called my brother for long-distance assistance. He's in Gloucester.

Snag: Neither of the other 2 knew how to open the hood on their vehicle.

"People who don't even know how to open the hood of their car should not be playing with jumper cables," my brother said, somewhat caustically. "If you don't hook it up properly, the battery could blow up."

Uh-huh. I said "thanks" and set him free of his hair-brained sister. For now, anyway.

In the meantime, another man had returned a frantic call from Triple-D (short for deep-dish diva) and was dispensing advice from afar.

Finally getting the hoods open, with help from yet another man not in the vicinity (Triple-D's friend's boyfriend), we hooked up the cables.

"Stand back!" Triple-D cried and we moved away from the vehicles as she climbed into her Saab.

It started on the first try.

Yay. Us.