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My sweet, demure, Southern belle of a mother announcing at the dinner table that she wore thong bikini underwear on the Greyhound bus to Nashville to meet her married lover for a weekend special. And how she didn't like them because they rode up on her.
My brother just sat there in shock with a forkful of something poised in mid-air. Finally, he put the fork down and said, "Mom. I could have gone my entire life without hearing that."
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"Just livin' day by day"
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Quote:
Originally Posted by cpg35223
My sweet, demure, Southern belle of a mother announcing at the dinner table that she wore thong bikini underwear on the Greyhound bus to Nashville to meet her married lover for a weekend special. And how she didn't like them because they rode up on her.
My brother just sat there in shock with a forkful of something poised in mid-air. Finally, he put the fork down and said, "Mom. I could have gone my entire life without hearing that."
I pooped on the sidewalk in front of the Lincoln Monument in Washington D.C. I was 10 years old. It used to be a source of shame, but it has become a source of pride. I've done something that, perhaps, no one has ever done before and no one will do again. In a way, that makes me immortal.
I pooped on the sidewalk in front of the Lincoln Monument in Washington D.C. I was 10 years old. It used to be a source of shame, but it has become a source of pride. I've done something that, perhaps, no one has ever done before and no one will do again. In a way, that makes me immortal.
Source of pride? Well, let's not go that far. Despite being ten years old, it is fortunate that you were not observed ... all in all, chalk it up to being a lucky crapshoot.
A kid hit my nose and made it bleed when I was, like, 10 (he was 10, too), because I was too "happy".
Oh, another one. Once a guy didn't want to talk me because he thought I was faking my voice (my voice is a bit high-pitched), I told him it was my real voice but didn't believe me. If I remember other ones I'll write them.
A kid hit my nose and made it bleed when I was, like, 10 (he was 10, too), because I was too "happy".
Oh, another one. Once a guy didn't want to talk me because he thought I was faking my voice (my voice is a bit high-pitched), I told him it was my real voice but didn't believe me. If I remember other ones I'll write them.
Why are those incidents scandalous on your part? Geez, I feel sorry for you. Poor kid.
Why are those incidents scandalous on your part? Geez, I feel sorry for you. Poor kid.
Thank you for your understanding, but those happened many years ago
People I know of got worse things than I did, and I always was near them to listen to them and comfort them. "Life is beautiful", someone says, true, if you only look at beautiful things, but that's just only a part of life. The world is messed up, really.
My first "real job", as a little girl (a step up from pulling weeds, for enough spare change to buy cornmeal) was with our county's 'Boss Bootlegger' (it was a "dry" county). I parked myself on top of the Executive Console (arm rest https://notoriousluxury.files.wordpr...2014/01/83.jpg ), between the back seats of his black Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham Talisman, and counted the money, as his underlings would emerge from the brush beside those one-lane roads, handing the cash in through the window. I'd make neat notations, and then stash the money in the Executive Storage Compartment under my butt. I watched my boss doing some pretty brutal things. But heck: I hadn't even hit puberty, and already, I was an Executive Comptroller.
Our house was an abandoned sharecropper's shack, at the edge of the woods, across a ditch from a farmer's field. I had one special knothole, in particular, which I kept stuffed with Kleenex (it's silent...). When Mama was with a john, I'd get up under the house, pull the Kleenex out, and watch them through the knothole. People wonder why a man as desirable as my husband, hasn't dumped me and taken up with some beautiful young gold-digger. But the answer to the question, "How does she keep a man like that?!", is my early exposure to to the 'fambly bidnis'.
When I was seventeen, I put my favorite belongings in a paper bag, and walked out to the road, where a nice white lady was waiting to take me off to college. I did not bother to tell Mama, my Grandmother, or my Great-Grandmother. I just abandoned them. I'd stopped telling them my plans, when they'd started telling me, "Girl, you ain't goin' tuh no college. Only place you's goin' is tuh thuh Crazy House." And that was that. They were dead to me, and the two older ones never heard from me again. In retrospect, I realize that this was about as cruel and heartless as anything could possibly be.
At my old gym, there was a man the guys called "Horse ---k". He was a beautiful, hairy, Highland Scot type, with big blond eyebrows, hairy blond shoulders, hairy chest, hairy blond back, a great build, a great face, and... IT. The guys at his job, once pooled their money, to pay him to look at some girly mags, while they watched, to get it to a measurable state. He tried, but couldn't. But he was a huge showoff. My 'Little Birds' told me that his fave trick was to shave, nel nudo, in front of a locker room sink, with it disappearing into the soapy water - which was quite a reach. About this time, I was reading a bio of the torch singer, Mistinguett. As a young thing, Mistinguett would take the fellas of the village under the bridge, and take a tape measure to them. Always finding literature inspirational, I applied this new idea (and a tape measure) to 'Horse...', while my husband chaperoned this event. I succeeded where "the guys at work" failed, and got a definitive reading. We have repeated this procedure, with different fellas, a time or two.
Does any of this count?
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