So I promised you a skinny-dipping story. I keep my promises. In case you missed that promise, it's on my new “about me” page, accessible from the “about me” tab right up there. While I have you checking out my tabs, I was wondering if anyone knows how to make them stand out a bit more, as in maybe have a box around them, or some such other thing besides just floating there in space. I've tried playing with the templates, but then I don't get my other elements looking the way I like. I have been learning a lot of blogger stuff getting ready for the April A-Z challenge. Don't tell me you haven't heard? Skedaddle right over there (AFTER you're done reading this post) and get the scoop. Ok, let's get naked.
When I was a junior in high school, I dated a wonderful guy named George Glass. (Not his real name, obviously, and if you can tell me why George Glass sounds so familiar to those of us in our forties...I'll buy you a drink). I was what you might call a serial-dater. All my relationships lasted three months. I usually had someone waiting in the wings at that point, which made the whole breaking up thing easier. Well, for me at least. Of course I was the dumpee plenty of times too. The worst was when I had a broken arm, but that's a whole 'nother post someday. I think it just takes three months to really get to know somebody, for me at least.
So back to George. He and I had been friends several years, each dating other people, but always hanging out with each other, too. We were fellow band members, so yes, band-nerds. Lots of people thought we were dating, but it was truly one of those amazing opposite-sex friendships that Harry says don't exist. “Because the sex part always gets in the way.” Harry is probably right, because there came a time when we were both unattached and I was dropping him in front of his house after some band function. He stalled, talking to me, for about 45 minutes, then laid a big kiss on me. Totally shocked me. Not that I hadn't been thinking about it (OK, for a while) but because he was a very shy, conservative Jewish boy, and I didn't think he ever would actually do it.
We had a great relationship. He was a true gentleman, and very generous, and we just plain had fun together, since the whole friendship thing was so firmly cemented before we dated. Many of our dates were group ones, which I didn't mind at all. We had the same circle of friends, so this wasn't really all that different from life before, except the kisses at the end of the day.
OK! Yes! I'm getting to the skinny-dipping part. Sheesh. Patience! A good story is told with lots of build-up. Or so I've been told. George volunteered at the Boys' Club. He was a tennis ace, our high school's #1 ranked player, and taught younger boys tennis. One night, on a whim, we decided to see if we could sneak into the pool for a late night swim. It was me and George and 2 buddies of ours, and it was probably ½ hour from my curfew. No problem, it was cold, so it was more of a polar bear club sorta thing, and I lived ten minutes away. Plenty of time. A chain link fence surrounded the pool, and there was a padlock on the gate. No problem. I was still a gymnast at the time, so I was up and over the 8' foot fence in a jiffy. Not so much the boys. Their larger feet didn't slide into the holes between the links like mine did, and they were quite hysterical as they tried over and over again, and also tried to pretend that there wasn't a problem. I mean, they were not about to let a GIRL beat them at fence climbing. “Wow, that's a sharp spot there. I'll try over here.” “Man, my shoelace caught. Let me fix it.”
All of a sudden, the motion-sensor lights came on and put the gentlemen in full spotlight. A dog barked. They ran. I snuck to the other side of the pool and climbed back over the fence in the dark, back corner and hid behind a pine tree. I don't see the scattered guys, I don't see a security guard, so I start looking for them. They're all behind the utility shed in the parking lot. I'm laughing.
I try to convince them that there's no danger, no one is coming, and let's get ON with this. But responsible George checks the time and insists on driving me home by curfew. I was actually pretty mad. As far as teenage pranks, this was a harmless one. No drugs. No sex. No violence. No graffiti. He worked there. But alas, there is a reason band-nerds are band-NERDS. All talk. No swim. Sigh. However, when I moved to Colorado, I did meet some not so nerdy folks. And almost got arrested. Naked. But you'll have to wait for that story, because it's time for this forty-something mother of two to make dinner. But it's with a grin, remembering.