“Orange Car Syndrome” by Lisa Selle

I can sense my son’s reluctance each time we see an orange car go by
The conversation’s interrupted: “I see another one!” he cries.
It’s the unfortunate result of a casual conversation
Where I had the audacity to make a bold statement
I told that little kid something you’ll never see
And I’m sorry that I did, ‘cause the world keeps contradicting me
I said orange cars are rare
But it turns out, I don’t know everything
Go ahead, conduct your own experiment out there
And you’ll see what I mean.
Orange cars are everywhere, proving momma isn’t always right
We see a handful every single day, and one or two at night.

I wish I had a sky-blue Subaru and a purple Mercedes Benz
A pick-up truck, cherry red, with some shiny silver rims
I wish I had a pink Jeep with a teal roll bar
A Vespa with a copper sidecar
And a charcoal limousine for a coupla friends.

Kinda makes you wonder how many other things
Right under our noses that we’re not noticing
And once you see it, it’s impossible to unsee
You wonder how you missed it, if you’re anything like me
Look it up. It’s called Blue Car Syndrome.
And it seems it also occurs with orange
But there’s no frequency illusion
For words that rhyme with...orange.
Tangerine has some kind of magical voodoo
Some crackling fire the opposite of blue.

I wish I had a sky-blue Subaru and a purple Mercedes Benz
A pick-up truck, cherry red, with some shiny silver rims
I wish I had a pink Jeep with a teal roll bar
A Vespa with a copper sidecar
And a charcoal limousine for a coupla friends.

Everybody’s wrong sometimes
Even your mom sometimes

It’s a little bit sweet how upset he gets
I’m the one he believes, even when I hedge my bets
How did I become the adult in charge,
Having conversations with my little boy about cars?
And if I could miss an orange car frequency
What else am I missing that he might need?
This world is changing too fast to keep up
And I’m on the interstate in a rusted-out pick-up truck

I wish I had a sky-blue Subaru and a purple Mercedes Benz
A pick-up truck, cherry red, with some shiny silver rims
I wish I had a pink Jeep with a teal roll bar
A Vespa with a copper sidecar
And a charcoal limousine for a coupla friends.

I don’t like to be the one to press my luck
But I’m on the interstate in a rusted-out pick-up truck
A coupla miles from spinnin’ out and gettin’ stuck
Out on the interstate in a rusted-out pick-up truck
Forty miles an hour getcha nowhere fast enough
I guess it’s now or never if I’m gonna wise up
Out on the interstate in a rusted-out pick-up truck
I’m on the interstate in a rusted-out pick-up truck.