Cat and I were cruising in the minivan when I couldn’t help notice how friendly teenagers are these days. Take that young man in the truck I scooted in front of at the intersection, right before the light turned yellow. He tooted his horn to apologize for squealing his brakes and nearly hitting my bumper. When the light turned green, he pulled into the lane next to mine and sped up so he could wave hello as he passed by.

党That boy is probably an exchange student,” I told Cat. “His one-finger wave must be a cultural nicety where he comes from, like curtsying before the Queen of England.” She shot me that look she gives when I’m about to hem her pants using a stapler. At least she didn’t do her Linda Blair-head-spinning trick. She saves that one for scotch tape repairs.

The blonde at the gym was downright gracious. Immediately after completing 100 sit-ups, she hopped up from her exercise mat, flounced by and cheered me on just before I slumped over the crunch machine. She must have noticed how whipped I was after doing five sit-ups, considering it took me five minutes. For each one. Funny thing, Blondie didn't utter a word, or even look at me. Her tush did all the talking. Across the back of her micro shorts were the letters C-H-E-E-R.

My daughter explained to me – between deep sighs and showing me the whites of her eyes - all the girls wear those shorts. That’s how they express their interests. Blondie's must have been cheerleading, Cat said.

"Or maybe she’s just a happy girl,” I offered. Cat heaved a sigh so loud that it sounded like pea soup hitting a wall.

Some shorts say S-O-C-C-E-R or D-A-N-C-E, anything that displays teenage girls’ special interests, my daughter explained. Oh, I get it. Like C-L-O-T-H-E-S or B-O-Y-S.

Letting our rumps do the talking could be a cool thing for women, too. Just think what conversation starters G-A-R-D-E-N or S-E-W on our backsides might elicit. Standing in the checkout line at Lowe's, a stranger might say, "Hey, I've been looking for a good tiller lately and read your backside..." I might even be asked the best way to hem pants!

Talking through tushes could boost our social lives, too. I rarely get out of the house without taking a kid, dog or dry cleaning with me. Occasionally, The Big Guy treats me to chicken wings at Hooter’s but then we’re home in time to watch Sports Center on the big screen TV he bought last Mother’s Day. Mundane nights folding laundry could evolve into evenings of stimulating conversation and camaraderie - just by walking around in shorts that shouted B-U-N-C-O or B-O-O-K-S. I bet my new gal-pals wouldn’t quizz me on A-Rod’s batting average. Or spill beer on my cat.

Rear-end messages could help assert our authority and discipline, too. Why waste time chewing out the kids when they say they don’t hear us? Pinot and Grigio may be hard of hearing but judging from text-messaging charges on their cell phones, they’ll have no problem catching sight of G-R-O-U-N-D-E-D on my derriere. The next time I slave over a home-cooked pan of Stouffer’s frozen lasagna without so much as a “good dinner” grunt from The Big Guy, I pull out the C-O-U-C-H shorts. Guaranteed, they’re not from Victoria’s Secret.

The choices for talking shorts are endless but there’s no doubt what my favorite pair would say: W-I-N-E. Heck, make that C-A-B-E-R-N-E-T. I have room.

Danielle Schaaf is the author of Don’t Chew Jesus! and can be contacted at hauteflashcontessa@yahoo.com For more of the Contessa, visit www.hauteflashcontessa.blogspot.com