The Farm and The Talk

I was trying to figure out which story to tell today, since tomorrow will be Sherry’s guest post (yay!), and then I think Friday will be the Queen Mother, and then I think I am done with this embarrassment for a while. I will probably sprinkle the rest of the stories sporadically throughout some other posts, but I think I would like a break from this kind of story-telling. (I mean, a break other than the extended one I took recently.) I’ve enjoyed writing these stories, but they leave little time for writing about how much I love clementines (so much that I have gone through an entire crate of them in less than a week) and shoes (so much that I have purchased 4 new pairs in the last week, hello, my lovelies) and how much I hate the annoying woman in the nearby cubicle (so, so much because this morning I was treated to her half hour long phone conversation about her son, and his haircut, and their Christmas pictures, and did you know he’s constipated again, which NO I DIDN’T KNOW THAT AND I REALLY DIDN’T NEED TO, stop making personal calls at work or at least stop being so LOUD about it). So I think a better mix of story-telling to mindless drivel is in order. I am much better at drivel.

However, I did have to eventually choose a story. I was stuck between two of them, but this one eventually won out because I think I’ve had enough stories about college and not nearly enough about my adolescence. And if there were ever a time for awkwardness and embarrassment and embarrassing awkwardness, it was my adolescence. Here goes:

I was kind of a dork growing up. (I know, I still am, but now I embrace it.) Not in the weird, ‘has no friends and likes to sniff her own pits’ kind of way, but in the ‘has friends but is a little bit socially awkward, is not popular and has no clue how to dress’ kind of way. So not surprisingly, the boys did not come running to my teenage self.

However, one boy did. And that is how I got my very first boyfriend. I have tried long and hard to think of a really good name to give him for the purposes of this story, but I’m drawing a blank. Hmmm… how about Howard? I think that will do nicely, since it even almost kind of sort of sounds a little bit like his real name.

So Howard had asked me out and we went on our first date (we went ice skating) and all was going well. And I guess in order to explain the rest I have to first tell you that Howard’s mom and my mom are best friends, and so Howard and I had known each other since we were babies (there are bathtub pictures, the horror) and yes, that IS sad and pathetic, but it is also true. One of the activities that our mothers had taken us to when we were wee little toddlers was a program at a local farm. The moms volunteered and in exchange got a few hours away from their children, and the children got to play with ducks and goats and go on hayrides. I don’t know what it says about us that our mothers would rather clean our horse stalls than be with us for a few more hours each week, but I suppose when you are a stay at home mom it’s not unreasonable to get sick of your kid after a while.

So this is all background to explain that Howard’s mom still volunteered/worked at the farm (at some kind of historical museum that was part of it, I think) and that is how Howard and I ended up volunteering at the corn maze.

Have you ever been to a corn maze? They are actually kind of fun, and Howard and I had a good time volunteering, because what better way to foster young love than to make eyes at each other over a bale of hay. I mean, really. This is romance, people.

One night we were there kind of late, and Howard’s mom had to finish up some stuff, so she told us to go hang out for a while and she would let us know when she was done. So Howard and I walked around the farm, and ended up in one of the barns, where I had my very first Make-Out Session. (I was a good girl, so it was making out only, thankyouverymuch.)

I guess Howard and I didn’t realize how long we had been there, but after a while we figured it had been kind of a while, and it was time to pull ourselves away from swapping spit and go find his mom so that we could go home. However, the second we stepped out of the barn we heard a rather frantic voice calling for us. We ran toward the voice and found Howard’s mom, who had been looking for us for over an HOUR, and who was completely convinced that we had been axe murdered or eaten by wolves or drowned or worse. Oops.

I tried to surreptitiously pull hay out of my hair and mumble an apology, but Howard was not so demure. “Geez, Mom, stop making such a big deal,” he said. “We were busy.”

Well let me tell you, that was the WRONG THING TO SAY, since Howard’s mom thought that busy meant, well, BUSY, and that is how I ended up getting the sex lecture from my boyfriend’s mother and knowing that my own mother would be hearing about it the very second I got home. And I really don’t know what was worse, being told about condoms and diseases, or having to explain that, um, we weren’t doing that, really we weren’t and yes I know how babies are made.

For the record, Howard is now married and has two kids, so I’m pretty sure that now he knows how babies are made.



Filed under NaBloPoMo 2007

2 responses to “The Farm and The Talk

  1. Oooh that’s awkward.

    And you and I were pretty much the same kind of dork growing up. You used almost the exact phrasing that I usually do when trying to describe myself as a teenager.

  2. -R-

    The sex talk from the boyfriend’s mother! Ew!

    Did you say, “We were ‘busy’! We weren’t ‘getting busy’!”

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