THIS ONE'S FOR THE GIRLS

Listen, my child, and you shall hear
Of the late night streak of Mommy Dear,
On the ninth of March in Seventy-four
Hardly a woman remembers more
About a heart so broken that day, that year...

First, apologies, of course, to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

And second -- just for the record -- I never actually commanded my son, Daniel, to listen to the oh-so-enchanting yarn of how, when I was a high school junior, I streaked past my boyfriend Bob's house after he dumped me for some rich tart named Shannon.

Rather, I think, Daniel, now 21,  just happened to overhear bits and pieces of this ancient history over the years because I  have regaled somebody with the details of my youthful shenanigans every March ninth since I can recall.

Did I mention I ground Bob's class ring into the cement?

Not that I was bitter about the breakup or anything.

I merely refused to let Bob have the last word. And that word was "boring." Yes, Bob had the nerve to end our three-month, hearts/flowers/poetry-laden relationship because, he said, basically, I was boring. Apparently Shannon, ahem, was not. If you catch my drift.

I was livid! He was supposed to be my prom date in a few months, for crying out loud! How dare he!?! Well, I'd show Bob who was boring! I immediately rallied my group of best friends and that night-- completely sober, I might add -- we ran, laughing and yelling sans clothes, past Bob's house.



We were usually a fairly tame bunch.

Girls Gone Wild it was not, by the way. Truth be told, although we weren't wearing our clothes, we were carrying them as we ran. Courageous, nonetheless, for a group of  high school girls whose naughtiest prank up until that  point was toilet papering.

Not that it mattered. Turns out Bob was on the telephone in his basement yakking it up with that frisky Shannon, so he missed my daring performance. Apparently revenge is a dessert best served cold...and dressed.

What did matter, however, is that when I was down and depressed after being dumped by a guy who thought me dull, my best friends were immediately by my side, making me laugh and, ultimately, celebrating the anything-but-dull me.

And that's what best friends are for, is it not? Whether we are 17 or 57, we help each other be our wild, courageous, non-dull selves every day. No matter what.

So ends the annual March Ninth Streaking By Bob's House The Night He Dumped Me remembrance.

This one's for the girls!