When my daughter writes so freely about subjects that in the fifties were not discussed, I wonder. "How did she get so confident and open?" I can only remember two things that happened to me that I didn't dare tell my mother. When Dan and I were dating at the University we spent 30 minutes in his Plymouth kissing good night at the end of a date. He was only the second fellow I had dated and kissed in a car. I don't believe I had been educated in the physiological changes that occur in a man when aroused. So the kissing part was what I was developing my expertise in when Whoops! his hand shot under my skirt and up my thigh.

"A pass!" I squawked. I was delighted. "Let's go back to the dorm right now."
"Are you mad?" he asked.
"Not in the least. I want to tell everyone at the dorm someone FINALLY made a pass at me." And I did. He never tried it again nor did anyone else. I failed in the repeat pass department. Squawking must affect the male condition somehow.

Fast forward 10 years one ex-husband and two children and a reunion and marriage to Dan. I got a job as a social worker and presented a case study to a group of dignitaries and juvenile court commissioners. When I got back to the office one of the commissioners called me to compliment me on the presentation. I was proud. But he kept complimenting me until I had a dim thought he wanted something. He had lots of questions about where I hung out and where we might meet again.

During the questioning I mentioned my husband and children and I went to the library a lot. Eventually it dawned on me he was interested in ME. I blushed from my toes up. A coworker saw me and asked who I was talking with to upset me so. I should have squealed " A pass. Some little fart made a pass!" But that was the seventies and I felt I had given the wrong signal when I presented my case. Sincerity must be a turn on to Juvenile Commissioners. Another lesson learned.