On the Navy

When some people join the Navy, it means they’re in the Navy. On Saturday night, for me, joining the Navy meant being on the Navy. Well, not so much on the Navy as pressed up against the Navy. Making out with the Navy.

My friends and I stepped out Saturday night with the sole mission of having a great time. We went to a neighborhood we don’t normally frequent and we just drank, made conversation and drank some more. You know it’s a good night when nobody begrudgingly claims the sober card and we all just decide to throw caution to the wind.

At the second bar we went to, I broke out into the Dougie on command, as I am wont to do ever since our holiday party at work (side note, white girls doing the Dougie is apparently a rare thing people enjoy, who knew). I was so wrapped up in getting my hair sweeps in time with the music, I didn’t even notice the man in the Navy uniform behind me giving me the up/down. But thankfully my friends did.

Now I’ve always heard about the mythical wing wo/man. But I had never really seen it in action. At least not in relation to me. But my one female friend was just a revelation. She saw the up/down and she dragged me over there before I had the chance to question.

We got into a group conversation. Exchanged pleasantries. Then she pretended that there was a dance off she needed to tend to and left us alone. And surprisingly enough, I didn’t choke. I didn’t accuse him of anything in my patented sassy tone. I just talked to him.

And then we kissed. He used his hat as an excuse (I didn’t hate it). We progressed into making out pretty quickly (I didn’t hate it). And it was in front of all of my friends and a bunch of people I didn’t know (didn’t love that, but also...didn’t hate it). My inhibitions were down because of alcohol, but not down enough that I was in danger of making bad decisions. The stars just aligned.

And what’s more was that I didn’t mistake it for anything it wasn’t. I didn’t try to slip him my number for future contact. I didn’t obsess over what he thought of me. I just let go. And it was fun.

I also didn’t go into the bathroom with him to progress the make out session - trashy - and didn’t take him home with me - questionable. Like I said, no bad decisions.

But we did make out. And for that half hour or 45 minutes or however long it happened to be, I could pretend like I wasn’t single, white and clueless. I was just a single girl, making out with a sailor, not caring if he loved her or not.

By the way, did I mention he was a mere 18 years old? I didn’t? Oh...my bad.