Ahhh, summer. Now that the hottest season is upon us, it seems like an opportune time to share with you a story of summers past. It was 2004. Rachel and I were both home from college and were both working part-time summer jobs. Well, I was actually working more than full-time because I somehow found myself with three jobs that summer (one on weekdays and two that occupied my weeknights and weekends). Now, that might sound completely horrible and like no fun at all, but, honestly, that summer was magical. My jobs were fun and had excellent perks (like free movies and free ice cream), I got to work with my friends, and then there were the Lawn Boys. Yes, Lawn Boys. I’ve decided to capitalize them.
My neighborhood at the time had a community pool and tennis courts and a landscaping crew who mowed and tended to all the common areas. They came every Wednesday over the summer, which happened to be my day off from my day job. There were two or three Lawn Boys that came each week who were in their early to mid-twenties and were super hot. SUPER hot. Ten years later, I distinctly remember one boy who was tall, muscular, tan and super blonde from being out in the sun all the time and another who had dark hair and, I assume, mysterious eyes who always wore the same hat and seemed a little “alternative”. Swoon. All the Wednesdays that summer were glorious.
Twenty year old girls are silly. No, I should amend that: most girls are silly when it comes to someone they have crush on. Rachel and I were enamored with the Lawn Boys. Every Wednesday, we’d head to the pool to soak up some sun and to attempt to stare inconspicuously at the Lawn Boys. I’m sure we failed. They knew we were watching them. We’d strut around in our bikinis, splash around in the water, and put sunscreen on each other’s backs. Alia came with us sometimes, but I think she was just in it for the pool.
Sometimes we’d play tennis, which consisted of us running around the tennis courts with racquets and attempting to hit balls back and forth. Neither of us actually knew how to play tennis. I’d taken lessons once but didn’t show any promise at the sport and quit. We were usually wearing flip flops. Word to the wise: flip flops and bikinis are not good tennis attire. We’d laugh a little too loudly and toss our hair, doing whatever we could to get the Lawn Boys to glance our way.
You’re probably wondering: did we ever talk to them? No. Nothing ever came of our obvious attempts at flirtation. One day, when I was feeling especially bold, I decided to wash my car after Rachel had to leave for the day. Still in my bathing suit, I unraveled the hose and dragged it out to my car in the driveway, along with a bucket and a sponge, and began washing. Slowly. I drew it out until one of them finally walked by. He smiled and said “hi” and I said “hi” back and that was the end of it. After all that, a whole summer of staring and giggling and walking around half naked, all I could muster was “hi”. But, for me at that time, it was enough. I’m sure I was giddy for the rest of the day and I probably called Rachel IMMEDIATELY to tell her all about it.
Oh, to be young again, to have silly crushes and feel super confident in a bikini. Those were the days. Maybe I should start trolling for some new Lawn Boys this summer…
Song of the Day: The Boys of Summer by The Ataris (I know for a fact that we listened to this song on repeat that whole summer, most likely cruising around in my super awesome 1995 Ford Taurus with all the windows down, singing at the top of our lungs).