My bedroom was in the back corner of the Wisconsin home my parents still live in today. It had the standard pink walls and frilly curtains of the period. I remember a hot morning in late summer waking in my bed wearing only my baby doll pajamas. (Side note: What ever happened to baby doll pajamas? The stuff they sell today makes you feel like GI Joe rather than Barbie).
Anyway, I awoke with a strange feeling I was not alone. I sat up and to my shock and fear there was a creepy looking meter reader ogling me through my bedroom window. Being young and rather stupid I didn't yell or get my parents, I simply jumped up and ran into my closet.
I had a small window in that closet and standing on a couple of board game boxes I peeked out to see what my would-be attacker was up to. I was surprised to see him running away as if being chased by a rabid dog.
After I came out and shut the closet door I found my rescuer standing there in front of me. It had been the summer of the Twentieth Olympiad and I was madly in love with swimmer Mark Spitz. Taped to the front of my closet door I had a life-sized poster of Mark wearing nothing but a red, white and blue Speedo and his seven gold medals. When I ran into the closet the open door must have stopped right in front of the window and the scum bag outside came face-to-face with Mark and his glistening, chiseled chest.
So more than 30 years after the fact I owe Mark a long over due thanks. Thank you, Mark, for scaring the crap out of the peeping tom in my window, and thank you even more for a poster that gave me many, many sweet dreams.
