Exchanging Glances... (--Frank Sinatra)
Driving back from a ski weekend away with my high school girl clique, the teenage boy in the beat-up car driving along our same route (somewhere between Pennsylvania and Brooklyn) caught our glances. For the next 30 minutes, he was the cause of much giggling and reckless maneuvering, until our long-distance communication came to fruition. I accepted the dare willingly and unthinking, as I outlined my digits as large as the scrap paper allowed and held it against the rear-passenger window until I was sure he'd scribbled them down. Three days later, he called. Three days after that, we met at a bowling alley. Three hours after that, my girl clique and I drove back to our respective bedrooms (eyes glued to the road, without roadside distractions) pondering how much the cute boy in the beat up car coming home from the ski weekend could be such a dud, and, next time, we'll just skip the digits and live it up at the McDonald's rest stop. Enjoy!
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