The Guys Who Weren't Very Good At Hitting On Girls, or, "A Scary Incident"

Okay.
So.
Tonight Emily and I were out on a nice Sunday walk, minding our own business and going to visit our grandmother.
It was fairly uneventful on the way there-- we did pass three rather large people standing next to their car texting on their cell phones. Anybody who ever said that texting is a silent language obviously never got to know these guys--they were liberally using audible expletives while texting. We didn't pay much attention to them (but they'll be important later, so listen up.)
We made it to grandma's and watched her play "Freecell" on her computer for a little while.
(Yes. I do know that watching someone play Freecell screams, "get a life". We only watched one game, honest.)
It was a very nice time.
But. On our way back, when we were going past an intersection, a little red sports car went past and the two occupants of the vehicle, uh, said something. Actually, it was quite evident that they were trying to cat-call, however, I can't say that they actually did, because their attempts were rather lame. It came out sounding more like a dying animal of some sort.
We crossed the intersection, and Emily commented, "They just slammed on their brakes."
"Don't worry about it," I said, "they're just trying to be nice."
"That isn't nice!" Emily protested.
"They probably thought it was," I insisted, "Don't worry about it."
And so I didn't worry about it.
Until they turned around.
And turned onto the street where we were coming.
And pulled up alongside us.
In the dark.
Their window was rolled down so we could get a good look at them, and there is no other way to say this: these two guys were ugly.
Not just slightly-distasteful-ugly--no. These guys looked like they had just returned from a photo shoot for the Megan's Law website.
If we could have held them for the law, the Smithsonian would have probably given us millions for bringing in the missing link for evolution.
They were hideous.
"Hey girls," the closest one to us said, in a voice that I assume was supposed to sound smooth, "Are you out exercising?"
No, we're having a tea party!
I looked at one and said, rather blandly, "Yes."
Several things were going through our minds at that moment, Emily and I discussed later. She was thinking, "I wonder which of them likes which of us?"
What was going through my mind was: Why, why, didn't I bring my cell phone tonight? And, These guys obviously don't have very much experience hitting on girls.
Because, after that first brilliant come-on line (the one about the exercise) it took them awhile to collectively come up with a second conversational subject. They had clearly had plenty of exposure to Jack Daniels, Elmer's White Glue, antifreeze, Timbisha Shoshone Peace Pipes, and prescription drugs within, say, the past five minutes or so. Their reaction times were just a little behind.
I know the driver launched his next talking point, but I didn't hear it because traffic was backing up behind these two, and at the obvious encouragement of a huge U-Haul truck behind them, they sped up.
"I will be grateful to U-Haul for ever'n'ever," I said, under my breath.
But that wasn't the last of it.
Thing One and Thing Two had obviously decided to come back for another try, so they had pulled off the road and had turned on their left blinker--they were going to do a u-turn and give themselves some more face time. 

At precisely this time, we were coming up upon the texting wizards from earlier, who were apparently still wrapped up in their cell phones. I saw that left-blinker ahead of us go on, and decided that most men (even tough men who use audible expletives while texting) will usually become sympathetic when girls appeal to their protective instinct, and made a quick decision: I was going to go up to them, apologizing for bursting in on their gathering, and ask them if they would let us stand there a little while until the guys stopped bothering us.
But Emily, ever quick, had a better suggestion.
"YOVANOVICHES," she said.
That name might not be significant to you, but the Yovanoviches are good friends of ours, who just happened to live across the street from the scene we found ourselves in. A contributing factor to Emily's reasoning must have been the rumor that once Mrs. Yovanovich yelled at a man who was going through her backyard, "If you do that again, I'm going to call the police!"--only to discover that the police were right on his heels with guns drawn. He was some horrid criminal and we never did find out whether or not they caught him, but Mrs. Yovanovich hollered at him all the same.

The car was turning around. We had to act quickly.
Yovanoviches it was.
We broke into a run, reached the front door, banged on it, and basically let ourselves in.
"What is it?" Mrs. Yovanovich asked, just as the car was slowly passing by the house.
We explained in abbreviated terms, and Mr. Yovanovich regarded us calmly, held up a dish in his hand, and asked, "Would you like to have a pistachio?"
Mrs. Yovanovich asked if we would like to call our dad, which we did want to do so very much, thank you. I told dad a few pertinent details, ending with, "So, if we're not home in an hour, you'll know that we've probably been abducted."
"Okay," he responded, cheerfully, "Preach the gospel to them, sweetie."
You've got to love my dad.
I tentatively agreed and we set out on our way, thanking our hosts for the pistachios and haven, then proceeded on our way.
We thanked God--of all the places for something like that to happen, it was on the only part of that dark, unlit road where there were any people, where there was a house we could run to!
"Nicole?" Emily asked, "Um, where would you, uh, punch somebody like that?"
It was quite a question.
See, the two guys weren't, by any means, small.
In fact, if someone told me that their momma was an elephant, I would believe them unquestionably, science notwithstanding.
They were very, very large.
(A bright spot is that they probably wouldn't have been able to fit us in the little sports car with them if they had actually been interested in hauling us off.)
We pondered that they had probably found our disappearance to be somewhat miraculous, and tried to imagine the post-incident conversation after having seen us, and then turning around to see an empty street.
"Or maybe they thought you were angels unawares," Dad suggested, once we got home, but Emily and I concluded that they were probably unaware of that biblical passage.
We called the Yovanoviches assure them that they didn't need to send out a search party.
We were safe.