Accidental Junk

Okay, how shall I explain this… When you want to see it, it looks amazing! Like Excaliber! Full of power and strength, not to mention the glistening promise of coital bliss to come.

But when you don’t want to see it, or it catches you unawares, dear God! It looks like a big ol’ mess. A big ol’ scary, ugly mess. Sometimes it even looks quite frightening, especially if the area in question is not well-groomed.

Let me give you an example.

I’m in college. My housemate Tracy and I are on our way back from the park, where we’ve spent the afternoon playing Frisbee. Naturally, the Frisbee is just the bait. What we really want is for the cute boys to come over and ask if they can join in.

And if they don’t make the first move, well, they might find a Frisbee on their laps, or in the middle of their baseball game, or in the spokes of their mountain bikes (hopefully causing only minimal injuries). All completely unintentional, of course. Yes, the Frisbee is our ticket to Cute Boy Conversation, and we’ve mastered its potent use.

There’s no shame in our game.

Not that the boys don’t have their own little games. Of course they do. That’s why they all go out and get puppies and tie little red bandanas around their necks and parade them through the park. Oh believe me, this works like a charm. Gets me every time.

So our shameless flirting session is over. Phone numbers have been exchanged. We throw one last giggle and toss our hair, and we’re on our way back from the park.

Two blocks away from our apartment, there’s a man (we’ll call him Dick) sitting on the stoop in front of his house. For those of you not from New York, stoop is a regional term meaning “a small porch, platform, or staircase leading to the entrance of a house or building” (thanks thefreedictionary.com). Not to be confused with schtup.

So basically, Dick is sitting on his front steps in his yellow 70’s shorts with white piping and a stained Home Depot t-shirt.

But this was really more of a stoop. There are nuances.

Anyway, Dick is holding up a baby boy who’s about 9 months old (we’ll call him Baby). Baby is unsteadily standing there in his little diapey and t-shirt (it was a hot day), facing the sidewalk. Dick is holding onto Baby’s torso as Baby bounces around and flaps his arms, squealing at the passing cars.

Baby is adorable, so Tracy and I stop to say hello.

Both Baby and Dick are quite receptive to our little visit. They both have big smiles on their faces. Baby is flapping his arms quite wildly now as we coo at him and tickle his little belly.

“Hi Baby! Hi Baby! Aren’t you a little cutie pie? Yes you are! Yes you are!”

Suddenly and without notice, I straighten up and begin marching hastily toward the apartment. I’ve got to get as much distance between me and The Situation as I possibly can before any sound escapes my lips. If anything audible were to let loose, it might sound like a cross between a wounded buffalo and a yelping dog.

I’ve got to be quick. I can’t hold it back much longer.

I’ve left Tracy behind, abandoned and completely ignorant of what lies just behind Baby, not 3 inches from Tracy’s cooing, open mouth.

It’s… it’s…

It’s Dick.

Unauthorized Dick.

Not quite sure if it’s actual frank or just beans. But there’s a big ol’ mess hanging out the side of Dick’s little yellow short-shorts.

“Hi Baby! Hi Good Boy! Who’s a good little boy today? Who’s a…”

The cooing stops abruptly. I hear the footsteps gaining on me.

And now that Tracy has caught up to me, we are running. Running and screaming like two scaredy-cat girls being pursued across the playground by a dreadful boy holding a big, ugly worm.

Actually, it’s almost exactly like that.

We do not stop running until we are safe inside our apartment, doors locked.

“Ewwwwww! Ewy-ewy-ewy-ewy!”

But now I wonder, was this just an honest slip?

Or did Dick know he was hanging out of his shorts? Imagine that. I bet he was using Baby to lure the girls in to see his naughty bits and pieces. A shock and awe campaign like no other.

Pretty ballsy, too.