The Battle of Bloomington

It wasn’t exactly World War III, but in the spring of 1995 I found myself embroiled in a battle of the sexes that would have sent Napoleon Bonaparte running home for his mama.    

I lived in a house in college with eight other guys, and we shared a driveway with a house occupied by nine young ladies.  Whose bright idea was that?  We would either all hook up or kill each other.

When it comes to global conflict, the word escalation is never a good thing.  One country picks a fight with a sling-shot.  The other fires back with a bow and arrow. Given enough time, tension and technology, the situation goes nuclear. 

I know this because I’ve seen it unfold in the microcosm of my own back yard.

This whole thing began one Sunday evening when the ladies next door called a house meeting, which meant that all boys were banned from the premises.  So really, they brought this on themselves.  Bored males are dangerously creative.    

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