Little Timmy

 

                                  

The guys in the locker room were amazed. They couldn’t believe how big it was. Some of them refused to look his way but others seemed mesmerized by it and the fact that he was captain of the swim team made it impossible to hide. He learned to accept the shunning and the staring and glaring because his mom was right, joining the team was a great idea. He’d been an avid swimmer since early childhood and the coaches and fans loved him. Truth be known, his teammates loved him too, but most of them were, admittedly, jealous. Timmy’s father gave him pep talks frequently and during those talks he was always sure to mention his own accomplishments. He was proud of the fact that his only son had seemingly inherited his athletic ability and his personality, not to mention his physical build and appearance. As a young swimmer Timmy’s dad embraced and showcased every aspect of himself no matter the audience and he was often reminded of those days when looking at his son.

During the last swim mete of the season Timmy walked out of the locker room wearing his team uniform; Speedo swim trunks and his favorite extra-long swim shirt. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a group of reporters moving in his direction. Timmy immediately grinned while simultaneously removing his swim shirt. When the reporters were in close proximity Timmy swirled around and gave them a perfect view of his full – faced boyish grin and his beautiful six pack. Those were actually only two small pieces of the beautiful “man pie” that made him the eye candy that he was… and he knew it!

His ego was enormous!

The Family I Never Dreamed Of—

(This is the fifth chapter of this short story. Follow the links below to read the previous chapters)

http://wp.me/p5AbPX-O intro    http://wp.me/p5AbPX-Ox  chapter 1

http://wp.me/p5AbPX-OH    chapter2   http://wp.me/p5AbPX-OL  chapter 3

http://wp.me/p5AbPX-OQ    chapter 4

Chapter 5

Ok, now let’s go ahead and put my parents room “in review”:

Their room was laid out much like my room is today. They had the master bedroom in their house like I have the master bedroom in my house, except I added a 6×12 foot walk-in closet and had my half bath converted to full. The closet was a must have, my Snicker Bar, Fritos and Coke fetish have to remain private… and secret. Yes, after all of the “things” I went through, I survived, and I guess you could say, I even thrived…never underestimate the power of prayer, 47 years of psychotherapy and some of the best mind altering drugs known to man.

The master bedroom- my reminiscences of this room are a bit hazy, and it’s likely that the matter involving the bees, the electric blanket and the baseball bat are the cause. The doctor said that waiting until the swelling went down was probably not a good idea. That one nostril was swollen so big it cut off the air to the other one and I guess my airway was blocked off a little more than I thought from that blood poisoning infection I got from the rusty needle mama used for my stitches. Those five days of random wheezing/whistling instead of breathing, undoubtedly must have done some brain damage.

What I do remember is the way mama and daddy had to hold Renny down every morning before school to comb his hair. See, Renny was born with his intestines twisted and had to have an operation when he was just two days old. Granny Lynn said they used too much “ether” and that made his teeth look like tiny yellow spikes. She said it also explained why his hair was so damn bad that they had to use a metal comb to comb it. Spikey teeth, non- spikey teeth, good hair, bad hair – no big deal, right? Especially since his baby teeth were destined to fall out anyway… but what about that hair? Would it fall out, too? Was there any hope? The fact that they basically had to hog tie Lil Renny each day just to get the comb through one “2×2” block was too much for mama to bear. He was her baby and she wanted to protect him at any cost. I believe that’s when the hair transplant idea first crossed her mind, at least that’s about the time that I noticed mama spending more time with me than ever before. She hugged me more, she held me more, she kissed me more, she smelled my hair more and she ran her fingers through it more. The only time I can recall a hug or kiss from mama was the night I choked on my hamburger steak. Looking back, I realize two broken ribs might be consistent with the Heimlich maneuver, but where does mouth to mouth fit in to that scenario? I guess she wasn’t taking any chances. My parents were court ordered to keep me alive “by any means necessary” or else, and obviously, they intended to do just that. Nothing in the order mentioned keeping me with or without hair, which now leads me to believe mama was “casing” my head. Do you know what that means? It’s a slang law enforcement word used to describe what potential thieves do when they check a location out or watch it closely and covertly.

This hugging and kissing and finger combing went on for 6 to 8 months. Then one day granddaddy came around and offered me a cup of that sweet, fruity tasting, warm tea with the funny smelling froth on top. I didn’t want to be rude so I took it, drank it and woke up 4 days older, lying on the floor, in a tea induced fog.  I was confused, thirsty, hot and sweaty which was the way I always felt after drinking that “tea”. I eventually realized I was in my parent’s bedroom and I can remember nervously looking up at daddy who was sitting in his recliner next to the bed. When I stirred, he looked down at me with that empty mouthed frown and a question mark on his face. That simple look silently spoke volumes. When I looked over at mama, who was sitting in the corner, her face told a different story. She looked away and snickered. Suddenly I caught a glimpse of my hair in the big mirror over the dresser, only it no longer framed my face. It was Lil Renny’s face that my beautiful, luxurious locks were caressing. I reached up and touched my head and began to cry, not for the hair I’d lost but for the hair they’d left me with. I felt what could be no less described as patches or splotches. One look in the mirror and my muffled sobs were covered by shrill, hyena-like laughter. I stared at my reflection in the mirror until it became obvious that each time I inhaled, the hyenas would stop and they would only begin again when I exhaled. It was me, the laughter slash shrieking was coming from me…

…8 days later…. I woke up to the smell of ammonia and Vicks Vaporub with a hint of Lysol and a touch of bleach on the side. It seems that daddy had convinced mama that I was possessed, and that the only way to stop my “fit” was to purge me. It only took 3 months for some of the feeling in my cheeks to return. I still have trouble with the right one when it rains and the dentist has such a hard time numbing my mouth that he has to sedate me. I guess that’s from that ammonia, Vicks, Lysol, cocktail enema they gave me that day; and all these years I thought I’d inherited this crooked smile…

More About Aunt Maggie

If you’ll recall i introduced my Aunt Maggie to the blogosphere back in July in “Aunt Maggie’s power Outage”- http://wp.me/p5AbPX-zG . Well today while driving home from mass I thought of her again and decided to share another of my precious “Aunt Maggie” tales.

My Aunt Maggie was a six-foot-tall, full- figured woman. She wore a size 44 double D brassiere, often bragged about wearing nothing but the best, white cotton granny panties on the market, size 22 triple X. Aunt Maggie said that wearing those little nylon and lace things was too much work.  She said all of that twisting and pinching and pulling and digging all day long made her fingers and arms sore, and it kept her with an awful rash, too.

Anyway, I didn’t care about any of that. Aunt Maggie was my favorite. We spent hours and hours together, especially when school was out. I specifically recall the year I stayed with Aung Maggie during my spring break. It was April, and boy oh boy, was it windy outside. We used a pair of Aunt Maggie’s bloomers to make parachutes, and we jumped off the barn into the duck pond. That was so much fun… until we saw the snake. That was the longest, fattest snake I’d ever laid eyes on. It had fangs hanging outside its mouth and it had two rows of teeth. Now most snakes have little beady eyes, but not that one… the eyes in that thing’s head looked to be as big as golf balls, and they were oozing some kind of green slimy looking stuff. To make matters worse, I think it was blind but it apparently had some kind of heat sensing ability.  That fat, long, double row tooth, fanged, blind thing was swimming right for me, and no matter which way I went, it stayed on my tail. I was screaming and splashing and trying to get away from it when I saw movement out the corner of my eye. I looked over my shoulder and there she was – Aunt Maggie- in all her glory. I wanted to give up and let the snake eat me because life as I knew it, would never be the same after seeing all that up close and in person. She gave a whole new meaning to “naked and afraid”. She was naked and I was afraid… and nauseous… and ready to die.

Aunt Maggie wasn’t having it. I saw her take one deep breath then trap the air inside her cheeks. In one swift move, she released something that was pure evil, it was repugnant and noxious, and at the same time, it was as hot as fish grease. I immediately smelled hair burning…my eyebrows and eyelashes were gone in that instant. Luckily, between the heat and the shear fear and panic, I managed to either subconsciously block or ignore enough of that atrocious odor to limit the blood loss from my nose; but that poor snake never saw it coming. It hit him dead between the golf balls. Aunt Maggie immediately flipped on her back then lunged forward taking that snake’s head between her 44 double D’s and that, dear people, was all she wrote. When her girls let him go, I watched as he lazily slithered to the bank, curled up in the snake fetal position, put his tail in his mouth and sucked himself to sleep.

 

 

The “er” factor

I had a conversation with a friend in which we were discussing relationships. We talked about the ins and outs, the goods and the bads and everything in between. We even talked about what I refer to as the “er” factor. You know the feeling you get or have when the relationship ends and the smoke clears.

We talked for several hours and when the conversation finally ended we decided to take a poll (for fun) just to see how many different “ers” there actually were.

So go for it— share your “er” with us…

It doesn’t have to be the “er” from a break up… it just needs to a relationship related “er”.

Here I’ll start us off-

I once dated a guy I’d met at a friend’s pool party. He wasn’t really my type but I wasn’t seeing anyone and he seemed nice so I agreed to go out with him. We’d only gone out four times when he popped the question. Talk about a desperate weirdo, I mean how else could I describe a guy who, on the fourth date, asks if he could borrow a cd from my “Jackson 5 Greatest Hits” collection? My “er” word for Mr. “I wish I had a Michael Jackson bobble head like yours”?—

ABSOLUTER– Expressing finality with no implication of possible change

Why? Because I knew he had an absoluter snowballs chance in hell of seeing me again —absolutely no way—

 

Dazzling

Shall you pour yourself a nice tall drink

If you plan to come and sit?

Shall I bore you with my rhetoric

Or dazzle you with wit?

 

Should you enjoy my company

Shall you visit me again

If you invite me to return

Will you appear insane?

 

Should I hold back on intros

Or should I call your name?

Should I hold close my secret desires

And say you never came?

 

For it is with my eyes wide shut

That I must say to you

I’ve wrapped you in my latest web

As all black widows do~~~

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