I went to a strict all-girls Catholic school. It was junior year. I was late for Chemistry because my swimming class ran ten minutes behind.
I rehearsed my apology as I ran down the hall in my wet, blue dress and squishy saddle shoes. The instructor, Sister J, was a very sarcastic nun who often licked her lips and rested her large bosom on her lab bench. She did not tolerate tardiness.
I ran in the room. “I am so…so…sorry,” I began.
Sister J: We were waiting on you. Put in this video.
Me: Oh okay, I am so sorry, swimming ran late.
I put in the video, turned off the lights and sat down to catch my breath. Then, the following magic took place:
I snickered. My lab partner laughed and we heard a chuckle behind us. Suddenly, girly giggles broke out throughout the classroom and I just could not hold it in anymore and began crying from laughter. Crying.
When the video ended, I flicked on the lights.
Sister J looked at us and shook her head. “Ladies, you should all know better, and Miss M [that would be me], you are a pervert!”
I was shocked! A pervert! Why was I the only pervert!?
Then I remembered the day there was a naked guy seen walking in the woods next to school and I hauled my sweet ass to the window to check him out (for the record, I had never seen a real naked guy…as it turned out I wasn’t missing much).
I am reminded of this story because this morning my coworker looked out the window and shouted, “A NAKED GUY!” and once again I hauled my sweet ass over to the window like a puppy excited to see the mailman.
Eleven years later at 28 years old, the video still makes me laugh and apparently, I am still a pervert. Somewhere Sister J is shaking her head disapprovingly.
Whatevs, Sister J, I just love to laugh. Laughter, love and naked guys are pretty much what make this world go ’round, anyway.