My Logic is Infallible

You know, there are many awkward moments in life. Standing in elevators  with someone else, trying to decide if the person who is walking behind you is close enough that you should hold open the door or far enough away that holding the door open would compel them to walk at an uncomfortable fast pace, telling your boyfriend’s Dad that the baby is his…but one that is often overlooked is sitting in the middle back seat.You’re there. you’re buckled in, but now two other people need to get in beside you and also buckle in. This is where the awkwardness comes in, the buckle for said people is situated firmly beside each of your butt cheeks. I think, due to some rule of physics and the fact that middle-backseat makers assume all people are the thinness of a fifth grader, it is impossible for the side sitters not to at least graze your butt while attempting to buckle up. Usually it is a knuckle to butt graze and could simply be ignored as knuckles rarely grope anything and can in no way be construed as an erogenous zone, but occasionaly the buckle has been squeezed down into the cushions in which case fingers must be involved.
Now, side-sitters could, if they weren’t so terrified of being conceived as a pervert, simply reach down and grab the buckle swiftly pulling it up and out of butt cheek range.  Middleseat-sitter could sit, minding their own business because generally speaking middle-seat sitters knew what they were signing up for in climbing into that spot and, if they have any sense, will not suddenly turn pointing a finger like the evil monkey from Family Guy screaming “YOU TOUCHED MY BUTT! BUTT TOUCHER!!!”

This is not what happens. Instead side-sitters often fidgit awkwardly for approximately 30 seconds, not realizing that by doing so they often look like they are eye-raping your ass instead of eyeballing the buckle, before they take a sharp intake of breath and go “I’m not playing with your butt…I promise”
You’ve spoken to me now. You have awknowledged that you are about to touch my butt. Why would you do this? it’s like when a young girl audibly farts in the room and you can tell they are horribly embarrassed and on the verge of crying. You, you who must acknowledge touching my butt is now the asshole who goes “PHEWEEE, what smells so bad?”

Having said this…

 The “i’m not playing with your butt” part i could possibly over see. Perhaps they are just a nervous person who has in the past had a hit and run grope of the ass and therefore would appreciate such a warning. it happens. I hear subways are playgrounds for mysterious butt gropers and you must consider that side-sitter may have at some point lived in a subway. Many homeless do. So, with Do Unto Others and all, this person simply issues a warning. It’s the “I promise” bit that gets me.

Why do you feel the need to promise me? Do I look unreasonably suspicious of your intentions? Not only that, but the old adage “Thou doth protest to much” always comes to mind when someone tacks on an “I promise” to a statement that in no way needs a clarifier, particularly statements which 90% of the time are unnecessary anyways. I do not believe you to be a mysterious ass-groper. If I’m in the car with you it stands to reason I know you well enough to assume you are not a would-be rapist, or a creepy pervert. You may be a pervert. I’m friends with you so you probably are, but not a creepy one.

But when you tack on the “I promise” I start to wonder. Have you once been accused of ass gropeage? If so, perhaps you are guilty. Maybe for one split second you were considering an ass grope and are irrationally afraid that I am psychic and ripped those thoughts from your brain, and am therefore stiffening in ninja preparation if I so much as feel as slight tap to my butt cheek. Perhaps you aren’t considering butt groping me at all but are instead a closet freak who does many things to butts on your night off. In which case I really hope you practice good hygene and wash your hands frequently, but still would not turn and scream anything resemebling “YOU BUTT GROPING HARLOT”, though I may chuckle to myself slightly at the knowledge.

Also I assume butt gropers are slightly more stealthy than that. Subway gropers are famous because they do it in a crowded moment in which they can stealthily stealth away into the crowd never to be seen again. They can escape. You are sitting next to me in an enclosed space, and if you’ve groped my ass reaching for the buckle you are now buckled in and therefore cannot simply hop out of the vehicle. You, Sir or Madam are within elbow range. Not only that, but if I am in the middle then that stands to reason there are at least (in a standard car) three other people in the vehicle besides me and you who would probably not stand for random butt assault.

It is illogical.
So please, in the future, just buckle up.

But it’s My Reeses Cup

It cannot be possible that my father was the only one to have done this. It just can’t. I refuse to believe that his evil genious was such that he invented a whole new physically painless torture device for young children with uncoordinated fingers.Growing up I was plagued with the inability to open things. This lack of skill ranged from coke cans to candy wrappers and sometimes even chip bags. Though I had two parents in my household, both with funtioning fingers mind you, for some reason I always went to my father to quell the situation that is unopened candy. Perhaps it was some leftover, genetically embedded vestige of olden days where men always opened pickle jars for their fair handed ladies. Maybe I was just stupid.

Tell me I am not alone.

Reeses cups, fruit roll-ups, kit-kats, pretty much anything my stubby child fingers had trouble grasping was fair game. Now, why I never learned to stop asking him to “please, open this for me” I cannot explain. Perhaps my child-like brain had not matured enough to understand cause and affect. Or perhaps it was my blind trust that surely, he would not torment me once again. After all, there are only two cups to a reeses cup and eating one whole one would be too cruel.

Oh the mental anguish. of losing that reeses cup.

You know where I’m headed here, right? He ate it. Every. Single. Time.
I like to think that he was trying to teach me “the hard way” by eating part of my precious snack, sometimes the whole snack in the case of fruit roll-ups where he could wad them up and stuff them in his mouth, but I am unconvinced.

For my father has a sweet tooth that I dare-say works as a gravitational pull, much like for a planet. Except instead of attracting moons and asteroids his attracted donuts and oreos to his specified couch location. His seat was always clearly marked by the Great Wall of Junk Food. Periodically Mother would walk by and basically swipe everything off the couch into a bag and you could see the cushion again, but this only lasted for mere minutes. Before you could blink a new bag of chips would have settled back into their rightful spot.

Now I’m married and squid does the same damn thing. I can accept this. I love him, and he is not without fualts. The ability to finish an entire cup of something and refil it instead of simply getting a new cups until theres five half-filled cups all over the livingroom-being one of them.

But I will stab him if he eats our furture children’s reeses cup.

Cooties and Vampire Fries

As this is my sibling, I very much doubt they are cooties of the cute or french fry kind, but fear they are the crazy or diseased kind. She tends to have chronic bronchitis as often as I tend to have chronic boredom. Well wishes to my sister, whom I believe has ended her courtship of insomnia and began a long-term and committed relationship to sleep. Though tepid, and far from the passion of insomnia, sleep is kind and much more gentle to the brain. Until then, No, dear sister there are not rats on the ceiling. If there were I would catch them all and name them variations of Pookie (Pookette, Pookins, Pookina) so they could distress you no longer.

I would dress them up in tiny pants suits, and force them to have tea parties with you, though since you do not like tea we would change it to crystal light, and I would make crumpets. You will have to give me a few minutes though, as I don’t actually know what a crumpet is and would need to google it, plus how to make one. On second thought, I bet crumpets don’t go well with crystal light.

Perhaps I’ll just order us a pizza instead.

Much love to you, cooties and all.

Walk On Water

Water is dangerous Peeps. Do not swim in it, do not fish in it, and don’t you fucking dare imitate Jesus, yo.

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