Boy Meets World was my favorite show ever. I bought a huge clunky VCR from a garage sale, ,and would use it to record every rerun I could find. On Fridays I couldn’t wait to go home and watch the new episodes.
But besides providing a world of entertainment and a huge crush on Topanga, the show also added something to my lifetime list of musts. I had to climb into a girl’s window at night. Hey… that sounds like I’m a rapist. I mean when she’s expecting me.
I was talking to a girl online that I had a crush on, who also had a crush on me. Maybe the only genuine crush I’ve had since becoming a pick up artist.
“I want to see you.”
“I can’t. I’m at my parent’s house and they have an alarm.”
(note – this girl was not underage.)
“That’s okay. I’ll build a rope ladder and climb up.”
It was a joke.
“Really?”
Hmm.
“Yes. I’ll be there in an hour.”
“Okay.”
I went online and found a site that showed how to make rope ladders. Then I drove to Wal Mart and bought two really long ropes.
It took me a lot longer than an hour to get to her house, because making a rope ladder isn’t as easy as it seems. With that firsthand knowledge under my belt I parked a few houses down, opened the trunk, and dragged my balled up rope ladder to her house.
What would the neighbors think if they saw that? What possible reason would I have for having half a kilometer of rope balled up in my arms at midnight in the suburbs?
I crept up her driveway and pushed past the bushes. Her room was in the front, exposed to the street. We whispered to each other and she threw down a kite string.
That was smart. I hadn’t thought of how to get the ladder up to her.
I tied the string to my homemade ladder and she pulled it up to her window. I was expecting her to be really impressed with my ladder and shower praises down upon me. I was really proud of it.
“Ok, I tied it.”
Close enough.
I began climbing up the rope. Since the rungs were just made out of rope, the sides clamped down on my shoes as I tried to climb. The rope swung back and forth as I climbed past the first story window.
That’s why they don’t show this shot on TV. It’s clumsy. You always see the grand entrance from the inside.
I finally made it up to the top. I pulled myself in through the window and scrambled across her desk onto the floor, headfirst like a worm.
Smooth.
Then I saw her “knot”. All she had done was wrap the excess around one of the legs of her desk and was holding onto the other end. I guess they’re too busy selling cookies in girl scouts to teach knot tying.
We got into her bed and true to the act’s sitcom roots, we made out and engaged in light petting. The only difference was that there was no audience to say “oooh!”, and every slight noise made me wonder if her father, a gun owner, would randomly drop in.
He didn’t, and a few hours later I climbed back down and drove away. It’s always satisfying when you just did something that could land you in trouble and are now in the clear.
I sat in my car and turned the key. That’s when a thought hit me hard, so hard that I remember it today, several years later.
Her parents had no idea that one of the most well known pick up artists in the world were in their daughter’s bed as they slept. They wouldn’t have ever considered the bizarre and remote possibility of it. It couldn’t possibly enter their minds. But it happened.
Later she would become my girlfriend, and they both ended up liking me, ironically.
But that thought led me to another more startling one. What don’t I know? What things that I could never possibly contemplate have occurred? What things will I never know?
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