Every family has its skeletons, right. Well – seeing as how this Blog is really starting to roll – I figured I ought to get this story out in the open before one of my… (now, gotta’ be delicate here) … loathsome, halfwit, inbred mofo cousins – springs this story in the Comment section.
*And that my friends – is a little reminder that we encourage y’all to comment – and not just those with a proclivity towards cyberstalking the site chief, Sean. All right, on with the show.
It’s the same stupid story, told repeatedly, ad-nauseum at each family gathering I go to. I have two cousins, well technically I have several, but let’s just say that these two in question may be of the kissing variety. Anyway, they have this tale, this whimsical bon mot, that stretches way back to those sunny, innocent days of the 1970’s – a simpler time when Leif Garrett was working on his development deal with VH1 and Iran’s Ayatolla Rock n’ Rolla decided to scrimp on gas thus shooting my milk money prices up from $.05 cents a mini-carton to $.25 cents. Suddenly calcium was a luxury of the rich and famous.
Anyway, every few months I would spend the evening at my cousins’ house, where John and I would whittle away the hours playing the Raiders of the Lost Ark board game while his sister Tammy would slave away over a hot Easy Bake Oven making us mini-muffins by the mouthful. You know, like all good women should. (Sorry for the rampant sexism ? It’s a slow week and I’m aching for some controversy.) The evening would soon grow long and eventually the time would come when everyone would take their baths for the evening. First went Tammy. Then John. Finally, with a shudder, my turn.
Now, as I’ve mentioned, these may have been innocent times but I was no Gump. At the tender age of six I knew only so well that the days of free love were waning. A guy had to take precautions.
So I would head to the washroom. I would draw my bath. And then I would lower myself gingerly into the steaming water. But I never dropped trou. That’s right, I would take that bath fully clothed. In addition to being a modern marvel of time management (washing my clothes and myself at the same time – I would have brushed my teeth and tossed a salad if I could have worked the logistics) it was also an act that salvaged my innocence.
How so, dear reader? Well, I ask you this. How is it that in the year 2006, two grown adults can conjur the same story (the only story they know, mind you) of a boy in the bathtub clad in his briefs if they had not invaded that privacy way back when.
Think back – this was the 70’s. Nanny cams hadn’t been invented and throwing metal spears at each other in the name of so-called backyard entertainment was considered the apex of modern technology. We lacked the techno-geek wizardry that has enabled websites like UpSkirt.com to provide us with hours of quality entertainment.
No, these two perps, as I, and the Massachusetts House of Corrections, affectionally call them had busted in seeking to sneak a peak. And now, the story gets told over and over, year after year and my family, or perp enablers, rolls with laughter.
So now that the truth is known, hopefully the story dies its long overdue death. As for my cousins, they’ve moved on. Just last year rockers Pete Townsend and Gary Glitter called a meeting with said Yanks seeking to detail their methods for a scathing expose they were researching. Also, my cousin John has indeed turned his mind to other pursuits – coloring an Easter 2003 gathering with this intriguing notion: contrary to popular opinion, 1st cousins are allowed and even encouraged to mate. Hmmm, maybe the Bush family is onto something.
I appreciate you seeing me through this lengthy diatribe. They won’t all be this ‘shocking’. Tomorrow I discuss the selling of television shows as ‘All New’ – when in reality, at least 73% new would still draw Nielsen.