Flinging, By the Book

I feel a little silly blogging three days in a row. This is as good as admitting I don’t, as they say, “have a life.” But it’s a slow week. Work is slow. Reading is slow (I’m just not experiencing the must-consume-next-chapter feeling). Even the crabs are walking more slowly. Mary is house-sitting, and my two fellow Musketeers from high school are visiting each other in Chicago. (Enjoy the wine bar and the….wind?) There’s nothing on tv. I refuse to watch “Beauty and the Geek,” based on long-held anti-Ashtonism.

I could use this time to peruse The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Statistics, which I purchased in a fit of motivation several months ago. I could vacuum or learn Korean. In my letters to Highlights readers who complain of “nothing to do,” I say, “You might use your free time to study another culture or explore a new skill.” It’s my policy never to follow my own advice. I've already tried knitting.

No, I’m devoting this evening to a far more productive pursuit: planning my summer fling. I like to fancy myself a seasoned flinger, but I’m still perfecting the art. Summer lovin’ is frivolity that should be taken seriously. There are rules to be followed:

1. The Rule of Three. This is an easy one to remember. Three Bears. Three Stooges. Three months. That’s all you get for a summer fling. After that, no contact. Sounds harsh, but I’m convinced the Danny/Sandy thing only works in musicals. Summer flings are partly about experimentation -- can I deal with a tongue ring? can I get away with professing my Don Henley fetish? It’s hard to experiment when there’s the possibility of repeated autumn encounters. It’s not “three-month limit;” it’s “three-month freedom.” Which leads to the second rule…

2. Quantity, not Quality. Sure, it’s romantic to reenact From Here to Eternity with one person all summer. But you can also do that in a capital-R Relationship. Why not enjoy a variety of beaches? The summer fling is not Mr. Right. He’s Mr. Right Guard. Right Guard smells good on any male, whether or not he pronounces Yeats correctly. I’m not suggesting a total disregard of standards -- “irregardless” is still out, for me. But was/were slip-ups are OK.

3. Kiss and Tell, and Embellish. Here, maybe Grease got it right (tell me more, tell me more…). With its three-month expiration date, the summer fling is ideal for rewind/playback among friends and bored co-workers. For me, the retelling has often been more enjoyable than the flinging. So, Mike says, “Want to see my collection of near-fossilized animal feet? You aren’t really a vegetarian, are you?” And I say, “Um, how about you just kiss my neck?”

It’s already the end of June…time keeps on slipping. Let the games begin.