Monday, November 11, 2002

From The Brain of the Giant Head

CLASSIC BRAIN: The Time I Tried to Get Some Tongue

Since The BraiN was on vacation this week, has decided to post a BraiN column that originally appeared exactly one year ago on If you’ve read it before, read it again for a chuckle. If it’s the first time you’ve read it, make sure you are wearing a diaper so you don’t ruin your underwear.

Back in late great 1988 I was approximately nine years old, Guns and Roses led the music scene, and Jordache jeans covered every grade-schoolers’ legs. Every boy was discovering that girls really weren’t so bad. Holding hands was no longer considered a "you’re a sissy" thing, but now was the hip thing to do. Little Sally began wearing a bra, not that there was anything underneath that bra, but it still impressed us nonetheless. I decided it was time to make a move on Little Sally.

I devised a full proof plan. First, I would wine her (Kool-Aid) and dine her (Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwiches — I even broke out the crunchy peanut butter for this special occasion). Then, I would take her for a ride on my 1986 Huffy 4-speed, with blue and gold trimming and handle bar brakes. And finally, the icing on the cake, a trip to the giant oak tree behind the janitor’s barn that we called "Make-Out Point." (I guess the icing on the cake was more for me than for her.)

So on that Wednesday, I put on my nicest pair of jams, had my mom touch up the steps shaved in my hair, and put on my bright green T-shirt cause everyone knew that wearing green on Wednesdays meant you were horny (not that any of us knew what "horny" meant, but we knew it must have been something special).

When I arrived on the playground I was feeling pretty confident. Nothing could stop me. She would have to like me. She wouldn’t be able to resist me. She might even let me slip her the tongue.

But then I saw them.

Little Sally was not alone like she normally was. She had her arm around Jack "The Zipper’s" shoulders. Jack got the nickname "The Zipper" back when we were little cause he’d always forget to zip up his pants after taking a leak, and, since we were the kind compassionate people that most little kids are, we pointed and laughed and properly nicknamed him.

I couldn’t believe this jerk was stepping onto my turf. Little Sally should have her arm around me, not him. I wasn’t going to get to take her on my Huffy. I wasn’t going to get to go to Make-Out Point. I wasn’t going to get to slip her the tongue. Damn!

Something told me to leave them alone. It was my mom after she beat my ass for throwing water on the crotch of Jack’s pants and telling everyone that he wet himself. It wasn’t the brightest move, but it was the most tactical thing I could think of at the time. And it earned me a week’s worth of after-school detention.

Little Sally never gave Jack the time of day after that. But she never gave me the time of day neither, nor any other boy in our class. And when we reached high school, she started dating Samantha Jones, who looked like she ate Jack the Zipper’s entire family and apparently had a way with the ladies.

And to this day I still think about Little Sally and the bra she still can’t fill. And Samantha Jones and the children she ate. And Jack the Zipper, with his pants all wet and his zipper down, getting laughed at by all the other kids in our class. I remember each day when I say to my boss, "I forgot I’m not supposed to call ‘The Zipper,’ sir. I’ll get your coffee right away and have the report on your desk by noon."