There are some stories that we all have in our past that we have had for so long, that the vile parts of the story lose their vile-ness.
Conversation overheard at Starbucks between two suited business guys. Mid forties, seemingly bored. Just killing time until they have to go.
“You remember the girl you dated senior year of high school?”
“Dated for 3 weeks, hot and heavy, had to break up with her. No saving it.” Sips his coffee.
“Her dad had this monster dick.” This is said deadpan, no emotion.
Finally, the prospect of telling the story gets some emotion. The guy folds his hands in front of him, leans in. Time for the story.
I find myself leaning in.
“Her dad was this rugby player on the weekends, beast of a guy, huge.” He talks with his hands as the story unfolds.
This is an old story that he is used to telling.
“During the week, he was, like, an insurance guy. Weekend? Like cage-fighter beast.” His buddy is nodding his head enthusiastically.
“Anyway, the first time I go over to her house, its a Sunday. Dad had a game, and was evidently in the hot tub. You know, after game tubbing.”
“So we come in the front room, and see him thru the kitchen in the hot tub. She turns to me and says, ‘you have to meet my dad first, thats the rule.’”
The guy leans back. “And that fine, gotta follow the rules. So she yells out to the hot tub ‘hey dad! Come here!’ and this dude, gets out of the hot tube, throws his towel over his shoulder, and walks into the house.” He thumps the table and points a finger at his buddy in emphasis.
His partner is sympathetic.
“Oh man, thats creepy.”
“Thats not the creepy part, dude.”
“The guy’s dick hung below his knee!”
Both guys are laughing.
The rest of Starbucks has quieted as the story got louder. With the last statement, a hush has fallen over the room.
These guys have not noticed.
“So what did you do?”
“Dad walks in and goes, “Who’s this?” He starts laughing. “Dick swinging.”
“And I wanted to say, Captain of the little dick team, sir.” He throws a quick salute.
Finally, he winds down, sits back and sips his coffee.
“Broke up with her the next day.”
“Because dude, if that is what she sees around the house every day, what can she do but look at mine and be like, Aw, like a little puppy.”
“Yeah, nothing else you could do.”
They both begin shaking their heads.
I am stunned. This is one of those obviously traumatic things that this guy has agonized over for years.
What happens next needs some explanation.
There is a business woman that comes into Starbucks every morning. Mid thirties, and one of the most stunning women you will ever see.
Always dressed to the nines, with a body that makes grown men feel under aged.
Thats a line from a song I can’t remember but it fits here perfectly.
Anyway, she is standing 5 feet away from the business guys, with one hand on her hip, the other holding up her coffee cup. She does not look pleased.
She clears her throat.
They both look, then look again.
She is that hot.
She gives them a long look in total silence.
“You pussies are pathetic!” She almost mutters as she walks out.
And now the boys look sheepish.
Some of the stuff that happens to you in life is not half as traumatic as what you do to yourself for the rest of your life afterwards.
And that sucks.