In which I am an ignorant tween.

Let me just preface with this: I hate baseball.

I know, I know. It’s America’s pastime. A game of tradition and patriotism. Got it. Personally? I find it even less exciting than watching paint dry.

Case in point: we used to go on family vacations to Minneapolis, where we’d settle in to watch the Twins. My mom and brother we ecstatic. My dad and me? Not so much.

I distinctly remember one Twins game where my dad and I spent 3 hours watching the overweight family in front of us eat nonstop. And then there was the family behind us with the gaggle of small, grabby children. Grabby children who had been brushing our backs and touching our seats all night. At about the 7th inning, the grandma of the grabbies proclaimed to the mama, “Why, Jill! Just look at all that mucus! He’s sick!”

And my dad and I spent the rest of the game hovering on the edge of our seats, attempting to avoid the fountain of bodily fluid seated behind us.

I’m sure my mom and brother could tell you all about that game and whatever magic Kirby Puckett worked that night, but what I remember is obesity and mucus.

So, all this to say … I don’t know much about baseball.

Also? I didn’t date much as a teen. I know you find this shocking.

Which leads me to ask a question to which I’ve never gotten a straight answer. And yes, I realize that my compulsion to never end a sentence with a preposition probably contributed to that dearth of dating.

When it comes to making out, what are the bases?

Seriously. Is kissing first base? Or is that just a given? Are there different bases for above clothes or underneath clothes touching? Have the bases changed, now that girls dress like hoochies and, if you believe the news, give mouth hugs to anybody who asks?

I can figure out what a home run is. I mean, I was raised on cable TV. But the bases? A mystery.

I am a married woman, so I have managed to have a somewhat successful dating life despite my horrible lack of bases knowledge. However, in my relationship with My Guy, I’m pretty sure he sees the bases like this:
First base: Kissing
Second base: I let her hold the remote. Not a euphemism.
Third base: Gettin’ it on
Home run: She made meatloaf! And that’s not a euphemism!

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