What is a normal number of microwave popcorn bags for a person to eat in one sitting?
Because the other night I ate four.
I think if someone had been around to do a double take, they might have done a double take.
Double takes are hard to draw.
That alluring kernel of corn reminds me of someone I once loved.
No it doesn't.
I just felt like saying that as a contrived way to start writing about old girlfriends.
Because I had some.
My first real girlfriend made me a mixtape with Billy Joel on it, and I had to pretend to like Billy Joel because she was my girlfriend.
I ate dinner at her house one time.
She was an only child, and her parents were kind of somber people.
Dinner was very quiet, except when I tried to use the salad tongs and salad flew all over everything.
Her father probably looked at me then, with ranch dressing on my chin and lettuce in my lap and thought "this is not a man at my table."
If he had thrown a ball at me, he would of known for sure, because I suck at catching and throwing.
Men throw me things; keys, pocket knives, deodorants, and these things fumble off my fingers and crash to the floor.
When its time to throw the things back, it gets worse.
I know it is not correct to say "I throw like a girl", so I will say "I throw like me, and it's not very good at all."
Sometimes I throw too hard and the man I was throwing something to looks way over his head and says "Whoah there, heads up, easy big guy" stuff like that.
Or I underthrow, and the thing travels two feet from me and lands awkwardly equidistant between the man and I.
The man then has stoop down and scoop it up because I remain frozen; after every throw, I need a little time to get my wind back.
I practice throwing motions sometimes, in the mirror, to try and get it right.
I'm right-handed; should my left arm cling tight to my body when I throw, should it extend behind me? Should it point in the same direction I am throwing?
This is strange, but one time I tried to impress my friends by throwing a pickle at the neighbor's house.
I really felt great, doing that.
It seemed so wild, so impulsive.
The act of a person who is really fun and unpredictable.
But the pickle never made it.
It's a metaphor for that girl and her parents.
I wanted to be a fun man and fling salad all over their table, but they were the pine trees that stopped the progress of my pickle.
Years later, I watched that girl smoke too much pot, flip out, and throw up everywhere. She threw up a lot of pasta in the woods.
Those same woods were the scene of my first time wiping my bottom with newspaper.
It didn't feel good, but I was really sick and I needed to go.
A girl I had a crush on was coming out to those woods for a party, and I needed to be able to be comfortable around her.
I once arrived at a girl's house for a date, realized I had to go, made up a story about having to pick someone up from work, left the date, went to a nearby friend's house, pooped there, and then came back to the date a half hour later.
She had fallen asleep on the couch.
We were just getting to know each other, so I could not snuggle up to her or anything.
I just sat at the end of the couch, thinking of how romantic I was going to be if she ever woke up.
In love have I,
the fool eternal been,
on couch's end.
But I did gets me a wife.
When I first wanted her to kiss me, I said "Hey, smell my beard."
When I asked her to marry me, I hid the wedding ring up the back of my shirt and asked her to scratch my back.
As she went to work, the little black case traveled down my back hair and popped out where my shirt had ridden up over my belly.
"What's this?" she asked.
It's romance, my love, and it has come for your finger.