“Maybe they’re swingers,” my mom says about a pair of recent aquaintences of ours. It’s obvious upon usage that this may or may not be the first go-around of putting this word into a sentence for her. “What?!” I exclaim. She proceeds to narrate a story about the neighbors, who were recently distraught to find that their close friends were indeed, swingers. Not only were our neighbors friends swingers, they had approached our neighbor in a private conversation to lure them into membership. Utterly disgusted, the neighbor was upset and told my mother, who picked up the term, “swingers.”
Now, I fear, any non-relative who becomes close to the family is suspect. Apparently you are to put a white rock in your front landscaping to indicate if you are up for some neighborly hanky panky. Our neighbor had unassumingly added white rocks for a décor element, and was inviting, ahem, the uninvited. Then the local papers had come out with some busting scandal about a brood of them in our hometown. It was enough to make a conservative mother sick.
I assured her that if these people truly were swingers, the worst that could happen is I would say, “no.” It’s as simple as high school D.A.R.E. And besides, I prefer swingers over stalkers, murderers, or theifs.