Confession is Good for the Soul, Right?

I won't be able to blog again until Saturday (maybe) because I will be pretty overwhelmed for the next few days. 

So I wanted to blog about something really important; a really good blog.

Unfortunately, I couldn't come up with anything even close. So, you'll have to settle for this little story.

When I was but a mere lass many, many years ago, I had a boyfriend. He had borrowed our pastor's car to take us on a date to the dance. We were fortunate enough to have a "teen canteen" with a live (sort of) band. Their repertoire was limited, but what they lacked in talent they  made up for in volume. 

The dance was always well chaperoned by parents, church members, pastors and the like.

So generally speaking there was no hanky panky nor hard drink unless a certain someone (who shall remain nameless) managed to slip in alcohol into the punch when the server's back was turned.

We were always warned of this victory, so those of us who were teetotalers could abstain from the punch until an adult caught on.

Anyway, my date picked me up a little early and we decided, since we had about fifteen minutes, we would go parking.

I don't know what the youth of today call parking to smooch, or if they even do that anymore, since most of them seem to have so much more freedom than I ever had.

There was a building under construction up on a hill, which seemed like a good, private place to smooch, so that's where he drove to.  We did, indeed "park". But in a few minutes it became obvious that we were not alone, that in fact there were two young men who had also parked to drink - and drink. 

They were having a jolly old time and came over to chat. 

We decided to make a hasty retreat to the dance. So my date cranked up and went - no where. The tires had sunk down in the mud of the newly scraped parking lot. It had become a pigpen after a good rain that morning. 

I began to panic. If I didn't show up at the dance, would someone call my home to inquire of my whereabouts? What if we had to walk out? How would I explain mud covered ankles? 

But the two drunken boys came to our rescue. They said they'd push from the rear while my date applied gas.

Sure enough, that worked. For us.

They, however; were encased in mud from drunken head to drunken toes. 

We waved a merry and grateful goodbye, leaving them standing there, a bit stunned.

My date drove by the local gas station that had a water hose outside and rinsed the car off.

We got to the dance no more than ten minutes late; and no one was ever the wiser.

Until today.