TO: Men all over the planet
RE: Bad-Girl Beginnings?
DATE: October 5, 2009
Now, boys, before you get your shorts in a bunch – and please, God, before you take said shorts all the way off in a bid to impress me – calm your little selves down. I’m not that much of a bad-girl rebel, remember?
But I do think my parents’ insistance that I grow up listening to the classic oldies of the ’50s and ’60s have contributed to the seedlings of my quasi bad-girl mind. You see, one of my favorite songs as a child happened to be The Young Rascals’ Groovin’, that sweet, laid-back ditty that always reminds me of summertime and driving through the country on a sunny day and watching the green fields sway to the slight, warm breeze.
I always snickered at the song, though, when this line came on:
Life would be ecstasy/You and me endlessly
Why? Because this is what I heard:
Life would be ecstasy/You and me and Leslie
Now, I’m not quite sure I knew what that meant as a young child, assuming, as I did that that, in fact, was the correct lyric, that the singer, his love and Leslie were going to have some sort of good time or something like that. Now, I know the activity they would have engaged in is akin to Sir Sleazy Swinger’s MO.
And now, any time that song comes on, I still sing it incorrectly. On purpose, actually. Because it makes me smile, and no, not for the reasons you boys with dirty minds are probably thinking of. So maybe that is the precise beginning of my light foot-stepping into the dark waters of being a bit wild. As we all know, though, I didn’t stay long, did I?
But, really, now, who are we kidding? I could actually never even be a bad girl, no matter how much I wanted to, and especially how hard I tried. I’d probably end up getting some sort of injury, being rushed to the hospital in an ambulance (with a cute EMT on board, perhaps?), where my only explanation to the ER doctor would be, “But, I was only trying to be bad. I’m a good girl, really. Ask my mother. The worst thing I’ve ever done is stole a purple crayon from my first-grade teacher. But I put it back….” He’d probably then give me a sedative and send me upstairs for a psych consult. At least, then, I’d have some sort of story to tell. But I suppose I shouldn’t mention Leslie, should I?