What do Alex P. Keaton, Cherry Pez, Paul Revere and Chinese food have in common?
Nothing, of course.
LFO’s “Summer Girls” lyrics made about as much sense as the sophomore shenanigans I participated in the summer this became my anthem.
The summer of ’99, my parents allowed me to bring a friend on a trip to California.
The particular friend I brought along was probably the most outrageous and fun friend I had up to that point. She was boy-crazy, hyper, hilarious, sweet, goofy. She was the bright, loud yang to my soft, quiet yin. Did I mention boy-crazy?
During our Cali trip, we wanted to be the Summer Girls. We brought all of our best Abercrombie shirts. And basically any teen guy with a pulse that walked by, we’d squeal and giggle and basically assume they were our summer destiny.
That trip, we rock climbed. We rode in little boats in the bay. We played dress up in fancy stores we couldn’t afford. We ate Caesar salads at every restaurant because we thought they were delicious and sophisticated.
We took 2 hours every morning to get ready. We blasted “Summer Girls” every step of the way.
We even bought Googly Eye glasses and put chewed up Oreos in our teeth and smiled down the boardwalk to see strangers’ reactions, because you know what?
Because Boogaloo Shrimp and pogo sticks. Ruby red slippers and a bunch of trees.
Because we were 15-year-old summer girls—and what does make sense at that age?