Ok, ok...sorry for the delay. Computer issues.
September 12, 2007
This morning, like most mornings, Jared was talking about fly fishing. He turned to me at breakfast and casually said, "Hey, I heard about a place in Connecticut that I want to fish when we're at your parents' house over Christmas. It's called Colebrook. Have you heard of it?"
Wow. Let's talk about a horrible, horrible flashback:
It was the spring on '91 and I was in the fifth grade. It was a good season, as I had just acquired my very first pair of designer jeans. They were dark blue, with tiny white polka dots, zippers up the ankles, a button fly, and of course, the famous Guess insignia. They were oozing with 100% fabulousness. My mom broke down and bought me those beauties at the LaSalle Shop's going out of business sale. I thought they looked particularly nice with my imitation Keds and my cropped white sweater--you know, the one with the giant bow on the back.
I loved this outfit so much, that I snuck it along on my fifth grade overnight trip to where else? Colebrook.
It was a nature's classroom kind of thing, so we were supposed to pack things like raincoats, rainboots, comfortable jeans, warm sweatshirts and mittens. But not me. I packed my Guess jeans.
The trip stunk. It was at some strange abandoned summer camp featuring a "lake" that was more of a mud puddle, half-a-dozen deflated basketballs, and a hopscotch square. If I remember correctly, it's the famous place where I said my first swear--something to the effect of "Get me out of this hell hole!"
I vividly remember being so bored that my friend Kellee and I pretended to be in the army. Yes, we played military.
"SIT DOWN!" she'd command.
"YES SIR!" and I'd sit.
"AT EASE RECRUIT."
I was like, "Kellee, we hate it here."
She was like, "I know."
Later that afternoon, my entire class was standing in the mud puddle, listening to some lame-o lesson about bug babies...or some kind of crap like that. It was completely freezing, but I was too darn cool to wear my Thinsulate mittens (remember those?).
All of the sudden, in the middle of the lesson, I had to pee--very, very badly.
I bolted into the bunk house, unzipped my jacket, and threw it to the ground in a tizzy. I could barely hold my pee in--I was about to blow. I grabbed my button fly and made a futile attempt to undo it, but my fingers were frozen and had become totally, completely useless. I had no motor control, so a even a zipper fly would have been an utter impossibility.
I whimpered, I cried, I swore for the second time in my life, and then I peed in my Guess jeans. And then all over my coat.
I walked back to the mud puddle, rolled around, and told my teacher that I had taken a nasty fall.
I looked back at Jared, fighting my traumatized expression, and in a very dishonest moment I said, "Colebrook....hmm. Doesn't ring a bell. Nope, I've definitely never heard of it...really."