And Now . . . A "Drew" Moment

Last night on the GO train, Christina was telling us about some of the many adventures that her husband Drew has during the course of his day. Now, I can't remember specifically what Drew does for a living, but I think he works on a some sort of commission based on how many nude women he spots during the day.

Christina relayed the fact that in their family, having a "Drew" moment is spotting naked people. (This is different than having a "Peter Mitchell" moment, in which the naked people tend to be really out of shape, not all that attractive, and usually wearing at least 5 or 6 decades)

It reminded me of one of my own "Drew" moments. A whole series of them actually. I was eighteen, in my first year at Carleton University and living in a house in Ottawa that I shared with two girls and my cousin Rodney. Rodney worked as a bouncer at a bar on Elgin street, and so his room was often vacant (except for the two ferrets - Lucifer and Feebee). I'd happened to be in Rodney's room with the lights off, likely yelling something through the window to my buddy Taki, who was dating one of my house mates, when, across the street I spotted a naked woman walk past an open upstairs window. A minute later, she walked back, hair brush in hand, standing almost directly in front of the window, and slowly brushed her long flowing hair.

I was eighteen. What else could you expect but that I didn't leave the window until Rodney came home from work and threw me out on my ass. And of course I planted myself there every single free moment of my remaining time in that house on Elm Street, often with a freshly popped bowl of popcorn or a bag of chips and a beer. Free entertainment! I was considering canceling cable. Fortunately for me, this middle aged attractive blonde lady often strolled around in the nude, enjoying brushing her hair naked, occasionally fondling herself -- and a couple of times I witnessed her entertaining a gentleman caller.

Ah, sweet memories. Of course, none of my memories are like the proverbial Penthouse Letter "Dear Penthouse, I never thought this would happen to me." Actually, no, they're all like that; they just end with: "and it never did. But I got to watch it across the street."