Great Caesar’s ghost!
Those were the words which spilled forth from these quivering lips when GiGi Price, my Uncle Paul’s youngest daughter, sauntered into the bathroom just as I stepped from the shower in my birthday suit.
This newly minted teenager immediately retreated to the safety of the shower, hastily covering his nakedness with the curtain hanging from the dowel rod overhead.
“Don’t have a cow, Tiny,” quipped the 19-year-old with black spectacles, trying to conceal the amusement splashed across her face. “If you didn’t want anyone barging in during your scrub-a-dub session, you should’ve locked the door; besides, you ain’t got nothing I haven’t seen before.”
Dude, get out!
After enjoying a fun-filled day at Kings Dominion, my family and I decided to make one more stop before heading home to the northwest corner of the Keystone State; whereupon we visited my father’s second oldest brother, Uncle Paul Price, and his kinfolk in Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania.
Not long after my two oldest Pennsylvania cousins, Carmen Clark and Silver Price, bid everyone a fond farewell following our four-course meal, their only brother led John and me down the double-tiered steps of their split-level home to the basement, where the three of us would spend the night on a pullout sleeper sofa.
Since the rising senior graciously gave up his bedroom for my parents and younger siblings, he eagerly agreed to host an evening filled with fun and excitement for his two favorite cousins.
“Welcome to the bachelor pad,” Rhett Price proudly stated, hands fully extended, before waltzing over to turn on the black-and-white console television set. “As you can plainly see, this quaint little space has all the comforts of home, including this handy kitchenette with a fully stocked mini fridge.”
“This is out of sight!” I exclaimed, channeling my inner Fonzi, as I tested out the knobs on the small-scale sink and stove. “I’ve got a mini refrigerator just like that one in my garage attic hideout; but my kitchenette doesn’t have half the gadgets and gizmos as this one.”
“Our little sleepover down here will be reminiscent of the good old days at Grandma and Pappy Price’s house on Palmer Avenue in Kenmore, N.Y.; except this time, we won’t have to deal with the girls,” chuckled the high school baseball pitcher as he retrieved three bottles of Coca-Cola from the sleek icebox.
Immediately drawn to the weight bench with a plethora of cement-filled weights on the opposite side of the pool table, my big brother and I received an impromptu tutorial from our long-haired muscular counterpart, who had been using them since junior high school.
“Can you feel the burn in your chest and arms?” queried Rhett, flashing his pearly whites after spotting me on the bench press. “That exercise works your core muscles, including the pecs, shoulders, biceps and triceps.”
When the Herculean studmeister removed his shirt to point out the different muscle groups, I was enamored by my cousin’s well-built frame and enthusiastically shouted, “Let’s do it again, because I want to get as big as you!”
By the time the grueling workout session was completed, this sweaty threesome was badly in need of a warm shower to relax our sore muscles.
“It’s shower time, boys!” declared Rhett, wiping perspiration from his sweaty brow. “Do you remember when we used to take baths together during the Thanksgiving holiday?”
“How could I forget?” quizzed the jovial teen as he restacked the weights under the bench. “The last time we were forced to take a communal bath together, I was in sixth grade; and I was mortified that your mother stuck around to supervise us.”
That’s because she had to make sure we actually used soap.
Well, if you don’t wash yourselves properly tonight, I’ll kick you out of bed; so, make sure to scrub really well, because I’ll be conducting a smell test afterwards.
As soon as I came back downstairs after giving GiGi a free show, my lifelong roommate bolted up the steps as I cautioned him to make certain he locked the door.
“Stop it, I’m very ticklish,” I divulged, doing a wiggly jig as the groovy hipster lifted my arms to take a whiff. “Do you want me to moon you, so you can smell my tuchus too?”
“Oh no you didn’t!” Rhett retorted with a playful smirk.
Before I could make a run for it, I found myself atop the hulkster’s bulging right shoulder, getting a playful whooping while squealing like a greased pig at the county fair, trying to escape the clutches of eager contestants.
A while later, the junior high school gridiron baller and I were in the middle of watching a repeat episode of Quincy, M.E. when our favorite Price cousin came back downstairs wearing nothing more than a bath towel.
I didn’t know this sleepover was clothing optional.
“Very funny, Marcus Welby, M.D.,” snickered the well-tanned fellow wearing a makeshift loincloth. “Since I left my pajamas upstairs in your parents’ overnight accommodations, I’m going to have to wash a load of clothes just to put on something clean; but until then, I’ll have to walk around looking like Tarzan.”
When the would-be Lord of the Jungle threw his sweaty shorts, along with a few other dirty garments, into the washing machine and turned it on, a wide-eyed maniac, also known as cousin GiGi, came running down the steps dripping wet in her own bath towel threatening to chop off her younger brother’s manhood, if he didn’t turn off the washer immediately.
I’m in the middle of taking a shower, and I prefer my water to be hot!
“Well, if it isn’t Miss Hoity-Toity,” Rhett returned fire, crossing his arms in defiance. “If I’d known the Queen of the Nile was taking her nightly bath, I would’ve rolled out the red carpet and hired a full brass band to announce her royal soak!”
For your information, I don’t have any clean clothes to put on.
“That sounds like a personal problem!” exclaimed the waterlogged teenybopper as she ripped off his bath towel before stomping back upstairs.
“I hope you enjoyed the show!” the purported male stripper yelled out, gyrating his pelvis while slowly turning a full 360 degrees to complete the impromptu performance.
“Wow, we got dinner and a show!” I declared with my baby blues nearly popping out of my head. “Now it definitely feels like we’re at our paternal grandparents’ house in New York, because I’ve been waiting to see those fireworks all night; but I didn’t know the show was going to be X-rated.”