The Bells

Awhile back I wrote about my Cape Cod summer love (ok, not really love but you get the idea). I mentioned that there were bells involved at some point and that I would write about them later. It is now later.
So this guy that I met on the Cape who turned out to be the best kisser ever and I were out on the beach near our house one night. It was dark and I couldn’t see my watch. I didn’t worry though because I could always hear the church bells ring the hour. I had to be home by 11pm. So there we were, kissing on the beach on a blanket. The moon was out, the water lapped on the beach and his sweatshirt smelled heavenly, like suntan lotion and ‘guy’ (in a good way). So I listened for the bells to let me know what time I needed to be home. You can see where this is going. I of course lost track of time and never heard the bells. My Mom sent my brother out to the beach to look for me and of course he saw me but what was he going to say, “Um excuse me, but can you get your face off that guy because it’s after your curfew and mom is pissed”? Considering he was all of like 7 or 8 at the time, I think not. So he of course reported back that I was kissing a guy on the beach on a blanket. (BTW, my brother was also the one that told my Mom about my tattoo and my bellybutton piercing. Thanks, T.) Eventually, I must have gotten it through my head that it was late and I did not hear any bells. So we made our way back to the house. He left and I went inside. Sitting at the dining table in their nightgowns (not pj’s, nightgowns) were my mom, my aunt and my grandmother. They were all still up. My mom was all, “What were you doing out there this late, you were supposed to be home by 11pm, yadda yadda, yadda.” I was all, “But it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t hear the bells!” They all looked at me, like “What is she talking about.” I said, “You know the church bells. I was waiting to hear them and I didn’t hear them. It’s not my fault!”
All 3 of them burst out laughing, trying to compose themselves to be mad at me. My mom snorted then my aunt. Eventually I just had to walk away because they couldn’t stop. Unfortunately, I still got punished the next day. I had to come in an hour earlier my last night on the Cape. From then on, every year, I was the butt of the joke about “The bells, the bells!”