Ahhh summer. Lazing around, trying to look pretty in the heat ... waiting for the summer romance, realizing that unless some wagon train got stuck in a time warp in the mountains, just broke free, and are heading to the prairies, that there is not a chance in hell of any new blood showing up. Looking at the available farm boys . . . begging to be allowed to go and visit some distant relative that lives anywhere NOT on the prairies.
The poor city kids who visited their country cousins. They didn't stand a chance.
More farm friendships get ruined because you hook up with your best friends city cousin who ends up being a schmuck. Or the cousin reveals strange things about your girlfriend you never wanted to know and you can't unhear those things. Farm kids only survive if you leave them in their protective wrapping and never pierce the magic with reality.
No matter how the city cousin or the friendship turns out - you end up having to find a cow to pet. You need a horse to ride out to the cow. And that is your summer. And you actually miss school and wonder what the hell you were thinking getting all excited about summer holidays when it only ever means you have a 2 month grounding with your grandparents locked in the same room.
I can tell you hell is real.
You even start looking at the church youth socials as the highlight of your summer. You pray for a bible reading just for the youth. You offer to teach one.
And then you go back to school in the fall and some fresh out of Uni teacher shows up and give you your first English assignment to write about what you did during the summer holidays.
Evidently "see the previous year" or "ditto" is not creative enough. So I made up stuff. I made up long involved stories of intrigue and romance involving other students and local farmers. How else do you think Cheryl Bowden went from being a mousy nothing to being the most popular girl, THE one that everyone wanted to date, in just 3 months?
It's all about the magic of the written word.
I actually think Harlequin Romances are probably written by middle school aged farm girls having to improvise regarding their summer holidays for that first English assignment in the fall.
We had nowhere to heave our bosoms except on the literary pages of our English assignment with made up men with chiseled features.
That is what happens when you deprive teenagers of any substance for their sexual angst. Harlequin Romance novels ...
Oh . . . and crude etchings on bathroom stalls.
Some people can't wait for the first English class in the fall, they lose it around mid-July.
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