Playgirl(s). Not.

College years are for making all sorts of mistakes.

Right?

Well, that's what I tell myself.

But this is one I didn't make.

My roommate, Debbie did.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Maybe I should explain . . .

Debbie and I were browsing through the convenience store.

Both of us were suffering from chocolate withdrawal.

We needed a fix.

There was a magazine rack near the checkout line.

Debbie was glancing over the offerings.

“Hey!” she said. “There's a magazine here called 'Playgirl'!

I looked at her. “I thought it was called 'Playboy'.

“Well, there's that one, too.”

“Huh. Weird.”

“What do you suppose 'Playgirl' is?”

The guy behind the counter spoke up. “It's pictures of naked men instead of naked women,” he said.

We stared at him.

Surely not.

I should explain here that both of us were children of the country. The words, 'sheltered', 'naive' and just plain 'dumb' come to mind.

“I've never seen a naked man,” Debbie said.

“Me neither,” I said. Something I was blissfully happy to continue for a good long time.

“Hmm.”

I should mention, here that when Debbie said, 'Hmm' in just that way, anything was possible.

Anything.

“I'm buying it,” she said, reaching for the cellophane-wrapped magazine.

“Ick!” I said. I was ignored.

She shoved it into her bag with her chocolate bars and we headed home.

At this time, we were sharing a two-bedroom basement apartment with two other girls, both as unworldly as we were. And neither of which was at home.

Debbie set her shopping bag on the apartment's only desk, which stood in our roommates' room and pulled out the magazine.

Then she stripped off the cellophane.

“Okay,” she said. “Ready?”

I shook my head. Again, I was ignored.

She flipped back the cover.

The magazine fell open to the centrefold.

Gasp!

I caught a brief glimpse of a handsome young man leaning casually against the doorway of what looked like an abandoned house.

Fortunately, I got no further.

Roommate slapped the book shut.

“Well, that's that,” she said, her face bright pink.

She shoved the magazine under the pillow of the nearest bed.

Episode over, we forgot about it.

Until a couple of days later when our roommate returned from her weekend home and crawled into bed.

We heard a shriek.

Then silence.

“Uh-oh,” Debbie said.

There was a knock at our door.

Debbie answered.

“What is this doing in my bed?” The magazine, held distastefully by finger and thumb, was extended.

“Oh,” Debbie said. “Umm. What makes you think we had anything to do with that?”

Our roommate gave her a 'Nice try, Debbie' look, dropped the magazine at our feet and disappeared.

Debbie picked it up and threw it into the trash.

Episode truly over.

But to this day, I wonder what was happening during the moment of silence after the roommate discovered the magazine . . .

You learn a lot of things during your college years.

One way or another.