1:23 AM |
My sister had a gay friend in high school. She had Tinkerbell tattooed on her shoulder blade. When my sister got married and we had to wear hideously large bridesmaids dresses, she tried to cover Tink with makeup. My mother told her to just let her fly.
When I look back at that moment, and also remember my mother was a no nuker when I was quite small (she also campaigned about cable TV, why should we pay for TV we already get free?), she seems so terrifically avant garde. She was always just mom to me, the lady in the Science Center group, and the mom who made Girl Scout punch, with the ice mold with maraschino cherries and orange slices floating in Hawaiian punch from the blue can, and ginger ale and sherbet. The punch was served from our punchbowl, of course, and we had glass punch cups, too. I was always afraid the handles would break off and I'd spill my drink during moving up day.
No nice people had tattoos at the time, so this girl was really wild. They didn't come out, either, so she was very brave. Most afternoons, we'd all lie by the pool to sun. She was a goddess, with skin so smooth and so tan, and her belly so flat. She always sunbathed nude. I'll remember that image forever, and often wonder what it would have been like with her.
I think this is on my bucket list. My imaginary boyfriend has to stay home, though. Who knows? A three-some someday? You need not an imaginary boyfriend, not an almost-real imaginary boyfriend, but a real boy friend, I mean friends and boy. Actually I don't need a boy at all, just a few beers.
I am very nervous posting this (what an old prude), but Brad said it's okay.