So, a few weeks ago my blog came up with a couple of my friends and they said they liked the personal stories better than the curated lists. I go back and forth about whether to make this blog totally personal or keep it a fun, fashion-y type of thing. I figured I’d do a story about me on Fridays. That way I don’t run out of material and overdo it.
When I was a kid, we used to go to Tahoe every summer. It would be me, mom, dad, brother, and sometimes my uncle, aunt and cousins, friends. We we usually stay in the same place for two weeks in August. It’s where I became infatuated with “Mike” (I’ve changed his name) who was the same age and would rent a house near us with his family.
I adored him from afar. He was cute and reminded me of a young Tom Cruise (but before the couch jumping and Scientology) and every summer he would always tell me about his current girlfriend.
One summer, when we were seventeen, he was single. This was it. This was the vacation I was on a mission to make out with him. And I did. And we kissed everywhere. In the sauna at the pool while his parents and my mom sat in the sun (nothing like having your summer boyfriend fall backwards with a bathing suit boner when your mom opens the sauna door to tell you she’s going back to the house.) Oh my God I remember we were sitting on the curb one night talking when I heard his mom yell out the door, “why don’t you get into the car?” Great. Nothing like pushing your teenager to dry hump in the back of your Pathfinder.
He was a “tongue fucker.” (Apologies in advance if you just spit out your drink.)
It was awful. He would be kissing me, and I would pretend to be in some John Hughes movie and throw my head back, and then all of a sudden, his tongue would be rapidly going in and out of my mouth at warp speed. No pun intended, but I was speechless.
But that’s not my story.
It was tradition that after dinner we’d go get ice cream in town. Tonight I was driving and couldn’t be more excited. And I was driving my dad’s Buick Park Avenue, or “Boomin’ Bu” as we coined it (because of the awesome bass on the stereo). It was me, Mike, my brother, my cousins and one of my girlfriends. I was super excited Mike was riding shotgun. We headed out, down the windy hill to the main road. Thinking I was cool and unfortunately not paying attention, I tailgated the car in front of me. Next thing I knew, the gate – one of those long striped painted numbers that move up and down – came down on the car. I drove through the gate and under it at the same time.
When you go into shock, everything moves in slow motion. As I realized what was happening, I turned around to see everyone wide eyed – like they were on a roller coaster – and simultaneously mouthing the words “HOOOOOOOLY SHHHHHIIIITTTTTTT!!!!” I slammed on the brakes. This was not good.
I got out and burst into tears. There were two streaks of white paint over the entire hood and top of the navy blue car. And you have to understand something. My father was the toughest there was when it came to his cars. “Never park it where it can get scratched!” “Don’t stay out to late or something will happen to the car!” “You don’t know how to drive!” The fact that I even got to take the car out that night was a miracle.
And now I was in deep shit.
Everyone got out and stood around, surveying the damage, completely exasperated. Then they burst out laughing. We went on to ice cream, only to face sudden doom later.
When we arrived back, I snuck in (thank God my dad was asleep) and said to my mom, “I need nail polish remover and rubbing alcohol.” You should’ve seen her face when we told her what it was for.
Can you picture this? Five teenagers trying to mask evidence by wiping nail polish remover on a Buick Park Avenue paint job? I wish I had this on film.
We said nothing. No one said a word. Luckily we got the paint off (well, sort of) and surprisingly, by some divine intervention, my dad never found out.
The best part was the next day my aunt and uncle drove up and my uncle said, “some asshole took out the gate!”
Yeah. That “asshole” was your niece.
It was a good lesson. Never let your teenager pack too many kids in the car. Remind your young driver not to tailgate. Warn you daughter that it’s not cute to flirt when she’s behind the wheel.
And always keep nail polish remover with you.
PS – Oh, and I laughed when I realized Mike went to college with my husband and whenI saw him at the reunion, I looked at him and thought, “tongue fucker. His poor wife!”