Squeaky Clean

I feel as if I've mentioned this somewhere before but I'm too lazy to go back to see if it's here in this blog somewhere.  If we have already discussed this, it's worthy of discussion again.  Because it caused that much of a scar on my soul.

I was in eighth grade.  My parents surprised me, my grandparents, my Auntie Ellie and my Auntie Maffie with a trip to Italy.  It was an amaaaazing trip of a lifetime.  I have so many incredible memories that I will cherish forever.

While on the trip, we visit with tons of family. One day, we were visiting our "rich" cousins (they had indoor plumbing and Atari) and, while my parents and the rest of the family went out, I stayed home with my cousin, Angela Marie.  When you're a kid, everyone's ages get skewed and so it's hard to say how old she was at the time.  (I remember thinking that my second grade teacher was "ancient" and now, come to think of it, I bet she was 25.) 

Anywho...Angela Marie and I were home.  In my memory, she was 85 but I bet she was younger than I am now.  (Oh sweet baby Jesus, I bet that's true.)  She was this cute little lovely lady who smelled like garlic and ivory soap all at once.   She didn't speak a word of English and I, sadly, didn't speak a word of Italian.  (I don't have many regrets in life but this is one of them.)

Somehow, over the course of the evening, I understood that she asked if I wanted to take a bath.  "Sure", said my eighth grade self.  "That would be nice.  It's August.  There's nothing in this entire country that is air conditioned.  I am a Bertoni so I sweat like nobody's business (even as a kid) and it will be super refreshing.  Great."

There was a cool claw-foot tub. There were bubbles.  There was the smell of homemade sauce coming in from the kitchen for dinner.  And suddenly, there was Angela Marie.  In the bathroom.  Bathing me.  It happened so quickly.  I couldn't stop it. 

She was totally not bathing me in a creepy "Dr. Phil/Maury Povich/Jerry Springer-way".  It was totally in a "you are my cousin from America and I want to take care of you and we can't talk to each other so let me do this for you"-way.  (Well that seems weird too but it really wasn't).

I mean - wait.  It totally was weird.  You DO remember that I was in eighth grade, right?  I knew that I was dying inside but at the same time, I knew that she meant nothing other than complete and total love by it.  (Again, that sounds weird. I promise you. It was not.) 

Anyway, after what was (in my memory) the longest bath in the history of baths was over, I remember some kid cousins coming over and I totally schooled them in centipede. (I was very happy that our rich Italian cousins had Atari so that I could take my mind off of The Cleansing).

I wish you could have seen my face. I wish I could have seen my face.

Classic.  Simply and utterly classic Kim.

...now back to folding laundry...