My sisters and I always joked that our mother should have been a nun. She was absolutely brutal to us girls when we were dating. I mean a literal ninja anti-makeout machine. You never knew where she was lurking. It made the hair on the back of your neck stand up worrying she was going to explode into the room where you were getting all lovey-dovey with your beau. It took massive effort to stay one step ahead of Sister Mary Bernice. She was scary.
It got to the point where we didn't even have to be up to something for her to think we were up to something. Ok, so maybe most days we were up to something but once in a while, we were up to nothing. Like the time Bob and his friends were over with some of my friends and we were all hanging out in my parent's den. The guys were playing their guitars and the girls were doing their dumb teenage girl giggling, swooning thing. My mother the nun was in the room because she actually liked listening to the guys play their guitars while someone banged along on our piano. I guess I got caught up in the whole wholesome guitar strumming, piano playing, Beach Boys singing that was happening and sort of forgot Bernie was in the room. As Bob was crooning with his magnificent mutton-chop sideburns shimmering in the sunlight streaming through the patio doors, I scooted closer and cuddled up side by side on the den floor. Our outstretched legs were now touching and Bob, being the motorcycle-riding bad boy that he was, reached over and caressed my knee. I adoringly looked up into his hazel eyes and just about melted as I saw my mother's death-ray stare aimed straight at me.
So, you can imagine my shock when I found this picture of my parents as teenagers.
Carlos Francisco Casas, age 17, canoodling with Bernice Corina Walters, age 16. Notice the hand to knee ratio. I mean, come on!
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