The Big Kiss Off

Her name was Carol...and probably still is. Her last name was Tenshaw...and probably isn't anymore. Like most dames, she was sneaky. Never saw it coming. I was casing the joint for her sister, Barbara, when out of the front door came her younger sister. I should have known she was trouble by her t-shirt, which said, "I'm trouble" stretched across her advanced 14-year-old bosom - the "I" and the "e" stretched mercilessly to the side. She had a ready smile and a twinkle in her eye that old Saint Nick would kill for.

She sashayed to the top of the sloping driveway, eyeing me up and down like a rich frat boy on his first trip to the sex shops of Amsterdam before her cute little caboose touched down on the bumper of her family's station wagon. I could tell by her dilating pupils that she was on the hunt...and I was her prey.

But I don't fall that easily for a cute girl who is two years younger than me, pleasingly petite, sapphire blue eyes and more curves than a Hot Wheels track built by Frank Gehry. My resolve was carved out of oak, but my heart was a coward.

"Are you waiting for Barb?"

I melted. She really put the hook in me. Playing it cool, I lit a cigarette, but since I didn't smoke, I stood there like a cigar store Indian, holding a match in front of me. She looked at me like I had two heads and I wanted to tell her how right she was. It was a long driveway, which sloped at a 45 degree angle. I loaded up the Sherpas with oxygen tanks and began the slow, awkward climb to get a closer peek of her peaks which piqued my interest. I was headed North - in more ways than one.

By the time I reached her, my heart was thundering like Gene Krupa hopped up on goofballs and my eyes were as wide as Paul Bunyan's dinner plates. I gurgled something that sounded like "hello" as she slid her delicious little bottom to the side, inviting me to sit next to her on the bumper. She told me her sister was still eating dinner and the small talk volley began:

Carol: "So, what's going on?"

Me: "Nothing much."

It wasn't Shakespeare, but it was close enough. I could feel her gaze on me like a million heat lamps. I felt vulnerable and naked, so I quickly put some clothes on and asked if she wanted to hang out with us later.

Carol: "Sure."

We talked for hours on a whole range of topics from the weather to how hot it was. She was leaning in towards me, most likely to smell the fear, and if she had a tail, it would have been swaying like a charmed cobra. I couldn't tell you what happened next, but before I knew it, I was locked in mortal combat with her serpentine tongue. I was almost lifted off the ground. We kissed so hard and so long, I felt like I had just gargled with Novacaine. Just then, the front door opened, and her sister came out. Barb - the one I had come to see, walked over to us and said hello. My entire face was so swollen and numb, I sounded like Mushmouth from Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids:

Me: "Heyba, Barba."

She didn't even break stride as she rappelled down the driveway and down the street. I looked over and Carol was now standing up, smiling, as she wiped the last vestiges of my 16-year old dignity from her lips and said she had to go clean up after dinner. Then she leaned back over and gave me a kiss so soft it was like the breaths of little angels and whisperings of lace. She turned on her heel and walked back inside the house, leaving the imploded husk of my carcass to smolder in the summer heat.

I went away with the family to Walt Disney World the next day. It felt good to see my folks's faces light up with wide-eyed wonder at The Happiest Place on Earth, and I returned home 10 days later, with a pride in my stride and a swagger in my stagger. I went over to the arcade, to satisfy my Donkey Kong urge. There was Carol inside, playing pinball, with a couple of other dames. I strutted on over, like Antonio Fargas, and planted a wet one on her cheek.

She didn't even bother looking at me before she exploded in laughter. It cut me deep, like a knife in the chest. Then the rest of her friends started laughing and it removed the rest of my heart. I left my heart there, lifelessly shriveled, on the arcade floor. I didn't even bother taking the knife out of it. It's still there today. Dames. They'll plunge a Silly Straw into your heart, suck it dry and turn it inside out like a tube sock fresh from the dryer. Then they'll laugh in your face as the last of your self respect flickers fecklessly like tea candle in a hurricane. I felt defeated, bitter and void of emotion. I knew then I was no longer a teenager; I was a man.

My name is Friday. I'm writing this on a Saturday. Now, I'm off to have a sundae. Just me, by myself.

And no dames.