It was the last summer weekend before high school started. I was an incoming freshman and found myself at the freshman retreat at Camp Oak Hill in North Carolina, designed to make us a giant, happy, drama-free family before being thrust into the upper school. Grabbing my swimsuit (a modest bikini, I thought I was SO cool for having a two-piece), I raced to the zipline, anticipating the inevitable adrenaline rush. A sizable chunk of my classmates sat at the edge of the lake and watched people zip over the glassy surface of the water before plunging into the water and rising up again due to the buoyancy of the line. I tapped my hot pink painted toes on the wooden platform, desperate to show off my zipline skills.
Finally, it was my turn. I grasped the handle and glided down the line, wind in my face, the cheers of my classmates urging me toward the water. I hit the water hard and bounced up...sans bikini bottoms. They hovered somewhere around my knees, exposing my entire bottom half to my freshman cohorts.
Nightmare. The grin disappeared from my face as I struggled with the drenched, uncooperative fabric. I dashed away from the scene as soon as I untangled myself from the safety harness, a continuous blush searing across my face. My friends followed, assuring me that "it's okay, Tay, not that many people even noticed!" What?! High school freshman boys had the opportunity to glimpse a half-naked girl? Yeah, they saw.
I got over it. I managed to don a bikini again. I traversed the jungle via zipline in Honduras. But, I haven't combined the two activities since. Both are fine on their own, but my track record with their marriage doesn't ensure the Luckiness of This Girl.