When I was 10-ish, I was on my hometown swim team. I started competitive swimming when I was 7 and continued until I was 13 (when my parents made me choose between swimming and basketball…if I had known then what I know now, I would have stuck with swimming).

Anyway, because I was a competitive swimmer (and somewhat because I’ve never been too fond of mornings…and having to get ready), I had very short hair…not G.I. Jane short, but a short (sort of bushy) haircut. I really wish I had a photo I could post here. That alone would provide much laughter.

Nevertheless, my whole family was in Dillard’s, when I was 10 (with my short hair), looking for a new swimsuit for me. It needed to have racerback straps, and I preferred the thicker Nike or Speedo varieties over the cutesy stuff. This suit was to be strictly for swim team practice.

So…I was feeling the material of one such swimsuit on one of the mannequins, when an elderly man walked up to my father and said, “You’re going to have to have a talk with that young man,” and snickered as he walked away.

I was crazy-embarrassed, and my dad thought it was hilarious.

I’m not sure whether the elderly man was talking about me feeling the swimsuit or my outfit (a hot pink tunic over white shorts…with pink sandals – one of my favorite outfits). Either way, mom was mortified.

Dad tells the story quite often, because I think he thinks it’s funny…it is not, was not and will never be FUNNY…it was, is and will always be SAD!