Once I went out with GV, a new guy whom I really liked. We'd been at a week long National Championship Pinto horse show, and everything by then was dirty and dusty except for one white blouse.
Thoughtfully, he gave me time to change into it, and we set off.
The show grounds were in downtown Detroit, which smelled like a cesspool. The heat was horrendous. Passing a sno cone place, he offered and I accepted, getting a grape. Just holding the ice felt great -- a relief from the heat.
Leaving the show grounds, we hit a speed bump, and the nice grape sno cone plopped onto the white blouse in the worst possible spot for one who was trying to be COOL... my shelf.
Again he was thoughtful... taking me to his camper, which had a sink with running water. After he snuck me into the back door without encountering anyone else before I'd had a chance to repair the damage, he wandered around to the fireside while I got cleaned up.
As I scrubbed the blouse in the dark, I looked through the camper window at mutual friends talking and laughing in the dusk around the fire, which is a nice touch, but on a night already so hot, WHY LIGHT A FIRE???
But one of his friends, not knowing he was "attached" for the evening, had him drop off some of the kids to swim in another fellow's motel's pool, after discovering that was where we were going for dinner. (Why they would think he'd go there alone is beyond me... none of us went to places that up town without being part of a group...)
So two tykes got into the back of the truck. He was embarrassed to have them, but, that is one of the dangers of being a nice guy. Unsure if I would be successful with the stain, he could hardly drag me around to the campfire, even if that would have immediately gotten the children withdrawn without having to ask it... A dilemma.
Knowing from unfortunate experience that the blouse would be see through until it dried, I settled in for a long, lonely wait...no problem about drying out, the heat took care of that. I slipped out, hoping in the light the stain was as gone as it had appeared in the dark of the camper.
The blouse passed muster, so we went into the really swank restaurant; the kids pealed off and joined the sons of the motel room owners and hit the pool -- date back on course.
We finished our meal and were ready to head to the dance floor... Not.
The pool had closed. Two wet boys tracked across the swank carpet right to our table, followed by an ever so politely correct head waiter with an AGENDA. He wanted them OUT... He assumed they were our children...
George was blond, as was the smaller boy. I was brunette, as was the elder... Looking them over, I realized that with a normal life, they were young enough to really BE our children...