It would be an understatement to say I was an awkward child. And seeing as I grew into an awkward adult, I'm not exactly fond of some of my early memories. There are plenty of contenders for "Worst in Show," but the following event is definitely up there.

Today my best friend and I were reminiscing about primary school. I don't consider myself old until I start reminiscing about high school, which I likely won't ever do anyway because I hated it. Rachel, on the other hand, is ten years older than me so that is something she does on a regular basis. Anyway, I shared a story about one of the many social snafus committed during my childhood.

Summer, 1993. I was eleven and transitioning from an awkward child into an awkward pre-adolescent. First periods and training bras were a borderline traumatic shift for a tomboy. I was self-conscious about everything. So of course my parents got the bright idea to send me away to Camp Monahan. Great, send the girl who was terrified of being walked in on whilst in the can at school to summer camp, where she'll also have to change in front of other girls and worse.

But I had to go, they said. I needed to learn social skills, they said. Fine, whatever, it's not like I had a choice. But as soon as I'd resigned myself to the inevitable, a couple days before I left I came down with every ailment known to man. I was diagnosed with seasonal allergies that required me to take a small pharmacy's worth of pills. I also developed a yeast infection, which necessitated one of those lovely-smelling anti-itch fungicide creams.

Note to self, probably should have slapped a TMI disclaimer on there. Oh well, fuck it.

Anyway, camp ended up being pretty fun, all things considered, but one incident stands out in my memory amidst all the archery and swimming and stupid ass campfire songs.

One night as we were getting ready for bed, my bunkmate was searching her luggage for her toothpaste and was unable to find it. So I, being in a charitable mood, pulled out my little mini-tube of toothpaste and offered it to her. She had the weirdest look on her face as she stared at it for several seconds before saying, "Oh wait, I just found mine."

What the crap? She hadn't looked back into her luggage, how the hell could she have found it. She eventually did find it, and when she was gone I looked at the tube I'd offered her.

It was the anti-itch vag cream.


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