OK, this is not going to be a well laid out, provocative, or spiritually inspiring post. Come to think of it, I probably need to do a better job of searching for content that stimulates, stretches, and otherwise tortures your mind. That would be a good thing. Right? Sorry, this just ain’t gonna be right… And it’ll never get ‘pressed”. I promise.
I am giving you fair warning, however. This post may unsettle you, you may pace the floor in the night, cursing, violently shaking your head from side to side, trying to dislodge the alien-spawn that I’ve just deposited deep within your amygdala. You may freely choose to “unfollow” at that point. For that I’m truly sorry. Honest.
Seat belts fastened? Let’s ride…
This past Tuesday, my son and I made our second trip before the local “Indian Guide” committee. He’s shooting for young “Soaring Chief, which entails a lot of work on badges, and projects, and all things that help a young man transition from mere Brave to someone wiser, more rare, and intent on the greater good. It’s been a good journey, I’ve grown up along the way too. It may have been better for me than it was for him. Only time will tell.
So, Junior and I are leaving my apartment, on our way to see the Tribal Council. And as we pull out into traffic, something catches my eye as I look back to the right, checking for low-flying bogeys. And suddenly, there it was, partially obscuring traffic. No lie.
Here are two young ladies crossing the street in front of us, wearing short-shorts and all nicely decked out for summer. With one very notable qualification. They are large. Ponderoulsy so. I’m not talking within the norm, +/- 3 standard deviations. No, I’m talking other-worldly dimensions here. Astronomically speaking, Jovian. Go look it up, I made it very easy for you. Altogether. And one Lass is significantly larger than the other. And as I pulled out and away, a soft “oh, my goodness…” escaped my lips. Junior had been looking down, fiddling with his parchments and buckskins, and whatever else young Braves use to retell their daring feats of coup-counting to the Tribal Elders. But as soon as my words hit the air, he looked up. His eyes widened, and then words of his own gushed forth. “Ohhhhh my gooodnessss…..” he shouted, as he dug deep into his pocket. Yep. I knew instantly that a serious tweet was hatching right before my eyes.
It was just impossible to ignore. One very large, beautifully embroidered pair of jean-shorts. Very. Large. Bottom line…. Baby got too much back. I’m ashamed to say that somewhere, years ago, one instance of that video seared enough neurons in my brain that even now, a sight like this calls it up from some deep place within. I’m NOT linking to it, if you’re curious, you are going to have to work for it. Consider yourself warned. This whole post is cause to head to prayer group asap. Anyway, the video came to mind as she moved across the street, picked up speed, and gained momentum. There were things reminiscent of craters on the moon, as well as the gratuitous tattoos and piercings for good measure. And I saw copious volumes of midriff, it was simply all too much to process in the 30+ seconds it lasted. But she had a cheery bounce to her step, kinda like a kid excited to be heading to the Braves game with their coach. And this enthusiasm caused an ebb and flow, a syncopation in shorts, that was totally unnatural. There were back beats in the back seat, and counter strikes happening all over the place. The natural rhythm began to resemble a complicated jazz thing, then broke down, with small ebb tides and cross reverberations taking place, fighting each other for dominance. All I know is that this was one incredibly tough piece of denim. Had the window been down, I’d have grabbed my safety glasses in a heartbeat, just in case a button broke loose and screamed off crazily at some dangerous angle, trying to slip the surly bonds of earth. And through it all, I was still gauging traffic, intent upon crossing several busy lanes to the other side. I finally paused and stepped on the brake, hard, and let several more cars pass, not sure that I was really aware enough of my surroundings to safely continue. I had a passenger after all.
Once we made it to the far side, Junior slowly turned and gave me a frightened stare, and simply said “that’s not right.”
No, son, it just ain’t right.
Sorry, I just couldn’t post this on Good Friday.
- ONCE AGAIN, THE WOMEN WON THE LOSER AWARD (“SURVIVOR: ONE WORLD,” ep. 2 RECAP)! (the1tvjunkie.wordpress.com)