ANECDOTE TUESDAY: SWIMMING WITH SOCKS

AN EXCERPT FROM A LARGER STORY...

During my senior year in high school, the graduating class went skiing and eventually after a long day of tumbling down the slopes, we headed straight for the pool. I loved my leopard print bathing suit that I knew no one else would be wearing because I had ordered it from a Brazilian catalog–one of very few that was not a thong. While I was certain to be a banging babe in it, there was the matter of my feet. I couldn’t let the entire senior class– including all the cuties–see how busted my bunion-laden feet were.

My friend-roommates all headed to the pool while I lagged behind. “Go ahead, I’ll meet you there in a minute,” I said, trying to stall and figure out how to get in the water without anyone noticing my feet. Putting on my white scrunchy socks and pair of high top Reeboks, I left the hotel room armed with a camera and a white over-sized Ralph “Polo” Lauren teddy bear towel.

Once poolside, I goofed around, taking pictures and sipped on sodas for a long while. Eventually, my friends beckoned me to jump in.

“I can’t swim,” I offered up in a meek protest.

“The pool is all of five feet. You’re almost a foot taller. Quit playing.”
“You know I can’t mess up my hair. I just got it permed and the chlorine water….shoo. I don’t even want to think of the damage that will cause,” I said, even though I was wearing a swim cap. “Water can still seep in.”

“Really? You’re going to sit sideline? That’s whack.”

Another senior jumped out of the water and threatened to push me in if I didn’t comply. Damn friends, I thought. Slowly, I dropped all my stuff and painstakingly took off my sneakers at the pool’s edge. Thankfully, I was hit with an epiphany and jumped in with a big splash– with the white scrunchy socks on.

“Why are you wearing socks in the pool?” someone asked.

Heads turned in my directions and some even chuckled.

“I don’t know what kind of germs are on the pool floor. It could be all kinds of foot fungus so I’ll just pass up on that,” I said.

“Lemme find out your feet are busted,” someone yelled.

“Take it off, take it off, take it off,” a small group chanted. And I did. Then my hair got wet once the swim cap floated away but the socks were imaginarily cemented on. In every poolside picture of my high school senior ski trip, I’m wearing wet white socks.

ANECDOTE TUESDAY: TREMAINE'S TUTOR

During my freshman year in high school, I had a crush on Tremaine, a senior. We were in French II class together; I had spent several years studying the romantic language at my Catholic elementary school, and was able to jump to a higher level.

Hoping Tremaine would notice me, I went to school one day in one of my best outfits: a paisley print button down shirt with shoulder pads that I had pilfered from my mother’s closet, khaki pants, white Nike sneakers, and mismatched socks.

I sat behind Tremaine in class, and in an attempt to get his attention, I kept raising my hand to answer questions. Midway through class, he turned around and looked at me from head to toe with a smirk on his face.

“Hi,” I said, smiling shyly at him. My fingers were itching to run through is mini curly Afro. Whatever sheen he used had his hair glistening.

“There’s something that’s been on my mind since you walked in. I can’t even concentrate today…” Tremaine said.

My smile faded slightly. That was not the comment I had hoped for, yet I said, “What’s that?” Hopefully he wants me to be his tutor, I thought while holding my breath in anticipation of his ask.

“What made you decide to put on two different color socks today? That look is so played out.”