Just the other day I was getting ready to go to the ol’ flea market and midget fair when I was stopped short in my tracks. I had my wallet, my jug, and a pocket full of sunshine ready to shop the day away when I realized that it was pouring rain outside. I wasn’t sure, why at the time, but I simply turned right around and went back to my inflatable couch and antique collection of Tab Soda. After a few minutes of flipping around through my wide assortment of Science Fiction cable channels, I thought to myself, “I am an almost completely evolved rational human being. Why should the rain stop me from having a good time outside?” And then, out of the trenches of my past came a horrible realization. It was worse than the bogeyman, paternal resentment, or playground teasing; I realized that I had a horrible melting complex.
It seemed so foolish at first, but after a few hours and an episode of Bewitched, I had come to terms with my problem. It simply made sense, and to this moment I truly believe that the water will melt my body into a lactic, flubber-like liquid. The last time I tested the theory was a shower back in ’82.
I had just gotten back from ‘Nam (my flight was delayed). I knew that the first thing I needed was a good hot shower, but after ten minutes of the steamy goodness I noticed a shriveling in my fingers, a limpness in my hair, a sag in a nipple or two. I punched straight through the glass door, leaping onto my shag bath mat to safety. After I removed all of the shards of glass from my ass cheeks and then deviated septum, and popped a low-fat Lean Cuisine into the microwave and vowed to never again subject myself to the horrors of water. Since then I’ve had to resort to dry cleaning, sand-blasting dirty dishes and bobbing for apples in a glue and vinegar compound.
My family noticed the trend at the holidays where they would incessantly try to convince me that I was insane. They would say things like, “You’re being silly,” and “When you were twelve you went to a mental institute for eight years after eating airplane glue for a week straight, claiming that you were going to be a hobby for Halloween.” I showed them, though. One night we just happened to be watching “The Wizard of Oz,” and do you know what happens in that movie? There’s a little dog who goes along this yellow path to go find milk bones and collard greens! It’s a good movie. That little dog reminded me that I should run out of the room and thus not answer their questions.
It’s funny that I had forgotten about all of this and that it had become so deeply embedded in my memory. But hey, when you’re on a diet of Tab, Nilla Wafers and red dye #13, I guess you forget a lot.