Skinny-dipping with Uppity

It has come to my attention that I’m being beckoned back into the meme pool by that righteous (and seriously sassy) rib Sassywho:

“What would you ask your friends to retrieve, hide, or destroy before your grieving family members were able to discover in moments of despair, should you die unexpectedly?”

Cannonball!

1. Somewhere out there is a photo of barely-teen me in my underwear with my nonexistant boobie exposed. It was taken by my friend Dona one evening in my bedroom when we decided to take “glamour shots” of each other. So we did our makeup and hair, stripped down to our granny panties, and grabbed the old drug-store Kodak Instamatic. It’s not so much that I wouldn’t want family to see my boobie as I fear that the classy basement-bedroom backdrop would make them think I’d been posing under duress for some pervy next-door neighbor. However, given that this photo was taken about 25 years ago, I’m not too worried about it suddenly turning up.

2. Kevin, please dispose of portions of my music collection. I do not want anyone to guess that I purchased Barry Manilow classics on iTunes because they are forever fused with my first fond memories of sexual awakening. (To those familiar with my fag-haggery, this explains a lot.)

3. Oh, and my X-Files DVD collection - please leave it anonymously on James’ & Jennifer’s doorstep, in a basket with a blankie and a tear-stained note. When children are starving in Africa, SIX HUNDRED DOLLARS is an appalling amount of money to pay for nine seasons of reruns, even if the show is the Greatest & Longest-Running Sexual Tease of All Time.

4. Kellie, please spirit away my standard-issue vibrator. You have my permission to burn out its motor using it to stir concrete like you did yours. Not that finding a vibrator would be shocking to my family in this day and age. I mean, vibes are as common these days as toasters. Except in Alabama, where they’re illegal and every woman owns an electric toothbrush.

That’s about it for tangible naughtiness. To truly avoid embarrassing my family, I would need my friends to hide or destroy their memories (and any videos made) of things I’ve done in my misspent youth.

List of Things I’d Really Rather Nobody Remember Me For:

5. DB, let’s just forget that time we had sex on a bench in the yard of St. Mark’s Cathedral on National Outdoor Sex Day. It was not good for me (though I think our audience of squirrels had a good laugh) and I am still picking splinters out of my ass.

6. Diana, when you meet my grandmother, please avoid telling her about our 24 hours on acid. Not that I don’t want us to remember it; indeed, it is one of my most cherished memories. But Grandma just won’t understand how I morphed into the Queen of England, or how you mesmerized us all as you swayed, skin gleaming in the light, to “Love Song For A Vampire.”

7. Laura, I think they are all gone now, but just in case, please go through my closets and ditch all the fugly, tight clothes I wore in my twenties during that (mercifully short) fashion-disaster phase that culminated in the red spandex mini-dress I wore to your wedding. I must have been going through a “If you got it, flaunt it” thing but I’m not sure as I’ve kind of blocked it out.

8. And finally - not titillating but still embarrassing - Paisley, please forget that you and I did NOT read that asshole bus driver the riot act for telling us that “Ladies don’t say ‘penis’ in public.” I know we woulda been kicked off the bus in the worst neighborhood in town in the middle of the night, but goddamn it, we should have handed that cretin his ass. Because fifteen years later it still pisses me off that we didn’t.

There you have it - the stuff of my shame. Stop that yawning!

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