I Should So Blog That...Wait, What Was That Again?

So, today post-egg hunt, I was sitting in the grass by my (now adult) cousins' (now old-old) swing set, which is on a bank overlooking our new homesite.  It was sunny and warm, with a nice breeze, and we were chatting.

We came upon a subject, and I thought to myself, I need to blog this...  I went so far as to tell my cousin's beau, "I should so blog that!", but do you think that I can remember what it was?

Of course not.  It was about Greg, I think...  And I thought that reliving the moment in detail would bring back the snippet. 

Maybe I will text my cousin to see if she (or her beau) remembers...

Nope!  No one else remembers either, although they remember me saying that I should blog "x."

It is so hard to remember the funny stuff when your day is so chock-full of baby-watching.  Brooke was adorable to the point of distraction...she was trying to eat nature: grape hyacinth, petrified walnut shell, grass, mulch, dirt...and then she was shredding leaves and stealing sunglasses only to toss them onto the ground, with a mischievious smile and her "ah-ah, ah-ah."  We remarked that her glee over the destruction of things was at odds with her adorable, innocent, tulle-ruffled squishy white baby cuteness.  We imagined that she had the capacity to become one of those deranged kids who pulls the legs off of ants for her entertainment.  I surely hope not!

She does love to torment the dogs, though...

And then, for some reason, I was talking about gay men loving Greg...and how he has standards for his would-be (if he was gay, that is) homosexual partner.  I explained about Harrison.  We wondered if we would still be jealous if our s.o. had an affair with a same-sex partner.  I said yes, I surely would.  Related story of some nasty text pics.  Ew.

I feel, for some reason, like the blog-worthy comment had to do with showers/bathing/personal hygiene.  Talked about Greg's oral hygiene, 7-minute routine.  Maybe I was just trying to "wash" the memory of the text pics away from my mind's eye?

Definitely discussed the future roasting of giant marshmallows procured by beau.  I said that the only other giant marshmallows that I'd seen were fruit flavored.  Discussed how unnatural it is to "toast" something that tastes like lemon, cherry, or orange.  Wood-smoke and fruit....

Greg went to the extreme, stalker-like conditions of calling me every 15 minutes for an hour or so to tell me about an oak table at a yard sale.... Oh, how well he has taken to the idea of antiquing...

Brooke tried to wear Molly's camera like a necklace but the handstrap just wouldn't fit over her head, in spite of the fact that she tried dilligently over and over again.  So, she settled for wearing it over the shoulder like a purse.

Still, it is not coming to me!  I can replay the events of the day in amazing detail...word-for-word, but can't remember what I was saying right before the fateful, "I should blog that!"  ARGH!

Wood smoke and FRUIT!!!  Fruit like grapes.  Grapes like jelly!  Peanut butter and jelly and fillet mignon!  Sweet Jesus, it is an Easter miracle...I pulled that from the corners of my amazingly complex mind.  I'm like Charlie Sheen, normal people can't even begin to understand me.  Haha :-)

So, it really has nothing to do with personal hygiene, as it turns out, but I wanted to blog about an experience that Greg and I shared while dating.

My parents sent us on a vacation to Jamaica.  Upon arrival to our resort, we noticed two peculiar things:
1.  Everyone in the lobby was nude, and
2.  There was a large banner reading, "Welcome Fluffernutters!"

We knew two things:
1.  We were not nude, and
2.  We were not Fluffernutters.

Shock faded into amused disbelief which turned into sheer amusement as we settled into the knowledge that we had been unwittingly sent to a nudist resort which happened to be hosting a swingers' convention.  (And I thought that a fluffernutter was a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich...guess I'll never eat one of those again.)

So, Greg and I entrenched ourselves what firmly in "prude" territory (versus "nude" territory).  The resort worked like this: nude was allowed anywhere (like, in the dining area...the disco...the gym), but "prude" was excluded from "nude"...so, you couldn't walk, while clothed, onto the nude beach, for instance.

I think that we "pruded" ourselves, at first, out of a deeply-ingrained sense of modesty.  After all, we weren't expecting to vacation at a nudist colony and so had packed lots of pretty clothes...  And, honestly, it takes some time/consideration/planning to wrap your mind all the way around being all sorts of naked.

As time went on, and we saw everyone else being nude--every body shape and age--I think we stayed alone on the "prude" side more for our protection than anything else.  We were definitely the youngest people there, and arguably the most attractive.  (Disclaimer: Not that I didn't find it beautiful that the nudists were so at ease in their skin [much of which was very baggy, saggy, bulging, protuberant, and crinkly-wrinkly]!)  *Yes, that's a double parenthetical...and, yes, it is within the limits of my artistic license.  I'm intense like that.

We became, like....MEAT.  Fresh, young, toned, fully-packaged meat.

The nudists were all over us to get naked.  After all, what did we have to be embarrassed about as the youngest, fittest of the guests, they asked.  Good point, we agreed (while remaining clothed).

The swingers urged us to swing.  Wives flirted with Greg in the presence of their husbands...  Husbands talked to Greg about me in my presence...  It was a very strange, new world indeed.  We clung more and more tightly to each-(STILL-fully-clothed)-other.

One man/wife were particularly interested in me/Greg.  The man told Greg that I was definitely "filet mignon" (and unfortunately implied that his poor wife was a "PB&J" in the process), as he said, "Listen man, I know your girl is prime like filet mignon, but even though filet mignon is delicious and expensive, if you eat it every night for dinner, eventually you are going to think...hey, I could really eat a peanut butter and jelly."

Greg took me by the hand and led me away after incredulously stating:  "Are you crazy, dude?  I hate peanut butter and jelly!"

And, we lived happily ever after...

in our clothes...

mostly.