Somehow, I have managed to date the same lad for a matter of weeks, if not months. This is a record for me. A record that was broken last night. As it was his birthday, I had a surprise that included, among other things, bridge jumping. He mentioned he wasn’t a good swimmer but I responded brightly, “The human body is bouyant, you should be fine.” Famous last words.

We went to the selected bridge, walked past the “no diving” signs to the middle where we stripped to our swimwear. Perching on the railing, we held hands and jumped. So far so good.

We hit the water and started swimming toward shore. After about a minute of swimming, Boy panicked and started floundering. I tried to help him and as he held my head under water, the thought crossed my mind, “I am going to die by drowing in the middle of nowhere with a boy I don’t even like.” I finally kicked him away, got my head above water and swam to a bridge pier were I coaxed him through his panic and got him to join me. Then, I waved a boat over to pick us up and deposit us on shore where the lad commenced vomiting from fright.

Let me say this: nothing kills a budding relationship faster than a near-drowning experience.