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To: Mike Buckley who wrote (5588)	8/29/1999 5:27:00 PM
From: chaz	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 54805

Well, I guess I've also got a story to tell. Some years ago, relatively early in my second marriage my new wife and my three children moved into a townhouse project. Shortly we got to know the neighbors, the neighborhood, and among other things, established a church connection. Early on a weekend Saturday, when the children were scattered at various other places, a girl's pajama party and Boy Scout camp if I recall correctly, my wife and I simply padded about the place, curtains drawn, in the all together. Not a usual thing, but it seemed silly enough to be OK at the time. At some point we heard the paper being delivered near the front door, which was inside a small brick walled and gated, but not locked, and not visible from the street, courtyard. We both went to the door to get the paper, and as we opened it, there standing before us, were two very properly dressed older women from the new church, coming to thank us for joining the congregation. Incredibly and as if absolutely nothing was the matter, my wife invited them in for coffee, which they thankfully refused. We continued to attend the church, but were never visited again.

To: Mike Buckley who wrote (5588)	8/29/1999 11:59:00 PM
From: Curbstone	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 54805

OT It numbs the brain to think of the plethora of embarrassing incidents that pepper my life. Aside from asking not one woman, but two, when the baby was due, only to be informed that they were not pregnant, this one ranks near the top: I was at that very cool age. Just out of high school but not yet in college. Suave, attractive, two beers under my belt, ohh so easy to talk to. We were at one of Southern California's famous "kegger" parties in the mid 70's. Me and the boys had drifted away from the crowd and into the kitchen. The conversation was relaxed, though the details have long been forgotten. Just then, who should wander into the kitchen but Janet, a dark-haired beauty, intelligent, interesting, the daughter of a banker. Janet had confided to a mutual friend a couple of weeks earlier that she was attracted to me. I was (of course, at that age) keenly attracted to her. Our eyes met almost instantly when she came in the room with a girlfriend. Not wanting to appear too anxious, I delicately broke off the conversation I was having and slowly worked my way to Janet's side. Flawless execution to this point. Magical. I had just arrived and we had just begun to talk. As debonair as I knew how, with a bottle of beer in one hand, I softly leaned back against the folding card table behind me. For one split second I had reached nirvana, the game was over, a done deal, love seemed certain. There was something electric in the air. For that one second. Until the card table collapsed under the weight of my hand. The last keg had been removed from the 15-gallon flat-style galvanized bucket, but the ice and water were still there, and the bucket had been pushed under the table. When the table collapsed I fell, butt first, directly into that 15 gallon bucket of icewater. To this day, 25 years later, on a quiet night, when the moon is just right, after precisely two bottles of beer, somewhere on the whispering wind I can still faintly hear the sound of sweet Janet, laughing hysterically, as she and her girlfriend edged out of the room, and out of my life, forever. AM