The camera opens on the black and white Rockwellian image of a mother in full June Cleaver flair, complete with apron and high heels, fussing and doting over her children at the bus stop in front of their house. She licks a hanky and wipes her son’s spiddle covered chin as her little girl looks down at his Mary Janes pouting. Suddenly, the placid voice of Todd Rundgren talking to his crew overlays this slice of americana on mute.
“Okay, (believe me) wait a minute, wait a minute”
The mother’s eyes light up with an inspired idea as she reaches into the back pocket of her daughter’s backpack and pulls what appears to be a picture out. She spends a minute staring at it, swooning and caressing it, before showing the picture to her daughter. The daughter hugs it tightly as her mother wipes away her tears.
“Gimme-just gimme…gimme…gimme a break for a second”
The bus pulls up. The doting mother gives each child a kiss on the cheek as she gently takes the picture from her daughter. She leads them up the bus steps with a pat on the butt each, and then waves them off as she pulls out a handkerchief and dabs at her eyes and fans herself with the picture.
“Two, three (four)…One, two, three…”
As the bus pulls away, it takes the drab two-tone color scheme with it. The mother, now in full color, peers down at an 8×10 of a burly looking wrestler who’s signed in silver paint marker “I’ll Be Home For Christmas, Babe”. The mother clutches it to her chest and looks around self-consciously as she fights back tears threatening to ruin her perfectly applied mascara as the music stings with an abrupt false start.
“Ah-one, ah-two, ah one, two, three”
A burnt orange t-top Thunderbird pulls in behind the bus as the opening instrumental of the Todd Rundgren classic “Hello It’s Me” comes blaring to life. The driver sits with his face away from the camera, his glorious permed mullet flapping in the breeze as pulls over to the curb in front of the wife. Her face immediately lights up as she tosses her husband’s 8×10 over her shoulder and rips her apron off. She leans over the passenger seat, giving the driver a peck on the cheek as her heels dangle behind her like a precocious school girl. The still obscured driver pushes the door open playfully, causing the wife to fall into the passenger seat with a playful giggle, fully kicking her heels off as she pulls herself inside and shuts the door just as the T-Bird flies off of the curb. As the car disappears on the horizon, sparkling words form on the screen in red cursive letters reading “The Undercover Lover Is Coming”
“Hello it’s me!”
cut to black