“Wickedly” Funny Moments of Our Stories ~ #BlogHerWritingLab

“Wickedly” Funny Moments of Our Stories ~ #BlogHerWritingLab…

I was 12 years old, turning 13 that coming October.  It was August.  I was with my friends, walking along the “boardwalk” at Hampton Beach, New Hampshire.  I remember this very well because my family was moving to a new place in a few days, and this would be my last day with my friends.

Like these friends, I was kinda-sortathis-much-a-little-well-kinda-maybe interested in boys.

We had ridden our bikes to Hampton Beach, parked them and headed to the arcade.  We played skee ball (still my favorite-of-all-time arcade game).  We had something to eat (can’t remember what). 

And we giggled over cute boys.

There were always lots of cute boys at Hampton Beach.

We walked along, passing the shops, little restaurants and ice cream places.  It was a beautiful late summer day.  There were lots of people at the beach, right across the street.  But we loved just walking along, giggling and being wonderfully silly.  We were like a little school of fish, swimming and flowing together in our own little world, looking at all the cute boys!

We all wanted cotton candy.  There was a cotton candy vendor who always created the BIGGEST, MOST FLUFFY, SWEETEST cotton candy.  These cotton candy masterpieces looked like COLOSSAL SWIRLED-PINK CLOUDS.  We watched the cotton candy man twist and twirl his magical CLOUD of FLUFF around those white paper cones that hold that PINK FLUFF in place…

Cotton-Candy

We each got our own magnificent “pinkness” and headed, again, on our wonderfully silly search of cute boys.

That’s when it happened.  The first time.  Ever.  Ever.  Ever.  To any of us.

Two cute boys stopped right in front of us.   And they talked.  (Who knew that cute boys talked?)

One smiled, and asked, “Where did you get the cotton candy?”

Oh, my.  They like our cotton candy.

We all pointed behind us to the general vicinity of the magical cotton candy man. I don’t remember any of us actually talking.

The other one asked, “How much did it cost?”

Oh, my.  They know about money, too.  They are cute AND smart.

But before any of us could answer, one of those cute, smart boys had grabbed my colossal swirled-pink cloud of fluff and run off.  Laughing.  With the other cute boy.  Laughing, too.

I stood there on the Hampton Beach boardwalk holding nothing but a sad little white paper cone with its scant remnants of pink fluff.  And the feeling that cute boys aren’t so cute after all.

I looked at my friends.  They looked at me.  Then we all burst into almost uncontrollable laughter.  We laughed as we watched those boys (notice that I didn’t say cute boys)  run off through the crowd of happy, summer people.  My friends then each took a handful of their pink magic cloud and piled it onto my sad white cone until my cone held a brand new pink magic cloud.

Then we walked along again, laughing, eating our cotton candy, wrapped in the wickedness of those boys and the funniness of what would become a wonderful summer memory for me. It reminds me of a funny little poem about a wicked crocodile…

HOW DOTH THE LITTLE CROCODILE by Lewis Carroll

How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale!

How cheerfully he seems to grin,
How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcomes little fishes in
With gently smiling jaws!

The last stanza being the important one when dealing with cute boys at age 12…

How cheerfully he seems to grin,
How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcomes little fishes in
With gently smiling jaws!

Yep.  Our little school of fish had swum right into the mouth of a crocodile. 

But we survived quite nicely enough to laugh about it.

Hey, it’s 51 years later and I’m still laughing about it!

BlogHer Writing Lab April 2016 Prompts! Why not join in and tell your story. 

About Audrey

Audrey McClelland has been a digital influencer since 2005. She’s a mom of 5 and shares tips on her three favorite things: parenting, fashion and beauty. She’s also a Contemporary Romance Author.

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