One step at a time
Girls are mean.
It is their purpose, I suppose.
To grow into women and take all the crap men – who stay little boys forever – constantly dish out.
But that first time a girl is mean to you. Boy, does that stay with you.
It was eighth grade. I liked a girl named Jodie. Of course, I couldn’t tell her that. I sent en emissary instead.
“Would you go out with Thom?” my best friend asked.
“Oh, fuck no,” Jodie replied.
I was crushed.
The boy had a similar incident a few weeks back.
And surprisingly, we’re all better for it.
The boy has a girlfriend. They’re cute, if not awkward, around each-other. First love. Sweet.
During one of those nothing conversations, they decided to play What Do You Like About Me/What Don’t You Like About Me.
The girl told the boy that he had bad breath.
“Really bad,” she said.
And the boy was crushed.
He told his mother.
“Did you think we were just telling you your breath stunk just to be mean?” she asked. “We were telling you that to help you out.”
This is a kid who could go weeks without brushing. This is a kid who was too lazy to put toothpaste on his brush when he did decide to brush.
It’s all well-documented.
He has poor hygiene.
“It all started to make sense,” he told his mom. “She’s always trying to give me gum.”
The day she told him of his stinkiness, he must have brushed for a half-hour. There was toothpaste foam all over the sink. The faucets. The towel, for chrissakes.
“At least he’s brushing,” my wife said. “We’ll work on getting him to clean the sink later.”
He’s a work in progress.
"I look at it this way," he said. "There's an upside for everyone. I get kissed more, and you guys stay off my back."
Now if I could just get him to flush his turds when his bowel movements are completed.
It is their purpose, I suppose.
To grow into women and take all the crap men – who stay little boys forever – constantly dish out.
But that first time a girl is mean to you. Boy, does that stay with you.
It was eighth grade. I liked a girl named Jodie. Of course, I couldn’t tell her that. I sent en emissary instead.
“Would you go out with Thom?” my best friend asked.
“Oh, fuck no,” Jodie replied.
I was crushed.
The boy had a similar incident a few weeks back.
And surprisingly, we’re all better for it.
The boy has a girlfriend. They’re cute, if not awkward, around each-other. First love. Sweet.
During one of those nothing conversations, they decided to play What Do You Like About Me/What Don’t You Like About Me.
The girl told the boy that he had bad breath.
“Really bad,” she said.
And the boy was crushed.
He told his mother.
“Did you think we were just telling you your breath stunk just to be mean?” she asked. “We were telling you that to help you out.”
This is a kid who could go weeks without brushing. This is a kid who was too lazy to put toothpaste on his brush when he did decide to brush.
It’s all well-documented.
He has poor hygiene.
“It all started to make sense,” he told his mom. “She’s always trying to give me gum.”
The day she told him of his stinkiness, he must have brushed for a half-hour. There was toothpaste foam all over the sink. The faucets. The towel, for chrissakes.
“At least he’s brushing,” my wife said. “We’ll work on getting him to clean the sink later.”
He’s a work in progress.
"I look at it this way," he said. "There's an upside for everyone. I get kissed more, and you guys stay off my back."
Now if I could just get him to flush his turds when his bowel movements are completed.
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