Schoolhouse Porn! Channel 2.

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Our courtship took a few weeks, but it was only a matter of time that we’d take it to the next level – an afterschool play-date.

It started out as a recess break like any other. Marie and I were huddling under a random schoolyard painted concrete turtle that was probably designed by some albino Swiss genius with a PhD in educational architecture to stimulate young minds never intending it to be an ideal hiding spot from bullies. This was when it happened.

“The kittens opened their eyes last night,” Marie said, seductively.

“Really?” I asked without an ounce of desperation letting loose.

“They’re so cute…” She said, now taunting me.

“I love kittens…” I hinted, without actually showing all my vulnerable cards, lest she perceive my desperation and flee from the concrete turtle like her hair was on fire.

“My mom said you can come over and meet them after school if you want.”

Bam! There it was. The next level. My television agenda was suddenly thrown out the window. Move over He-Man, fuck you Benson. I had a friend. I had plans.

Marie lived on the nicer side of a horseshoe-shaped street. Her mom and dad were married. To each other. Marie’s parents took care of their small kempt home. The grass was always cut, the paint was never peeling, the driveway free of stains.

Dana, my lead bully, lived on the shitty side of the horseshoe. Her front yard was only missing a fridge to give it full white trash status. The front yard was dirt and weeds and if a window still had a screen on it, it was tattered and ripped.

I started to understand why Dana was so angry. Understand, not necessarily care and most definitely not empathize. That bitch made my life hell.

Walking into Marie’s house that afternoon was like entering an alternate universe of the good kind. The entire house smelled sweet. Marie’s mom was in the kitchen baking. My mom never baked. Never. Ever. She hated baking and felt it endangered her feminist ideologies. She also worked very hard to maintain her ultra thin body, so the notion of baking was not only misogynistic to her, but also evil.

At the edge of the dining room was a tinted mirror wall with gold veins all over it, on purpose. Need I remind you it was the eighties? At the bottom of the awesome mirror wall was the area designated for Momma Cat and her five babies. They were squirming and writhing around, all cute-like.

Marie and I picked them up, one-by-one, and put them at the other end of the mirror wall to watch them walk around like little fuzzy four-legged drunks. As if it couldn’t have gotten any better, Marie’s mom put a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies on the dining room table. For us. I could have wept.

I sunk my teeth into the moistest warmest meltiest (yeah, it’s a word, look it up) cookie and went to heaven. I could go on about the cookie for five hundred pages or so, but the next blog will be entirely devoted to sugar, my next drug of choice, so we’ll leave it at a simple IT WAS REALLY FUCKING GOOD.

Just when the moment couldn’t get any more Norman Rockwell, one of the tiniest kittens noticed it’s reflection in the huge wall mirror for the very first time and was immediately convinced its reflection was actually another kitten. He took off with lightening speed full force toward the mirror until he CRASHED into the mirror and fell back, completely dazed. The kitten had his first lesson in gravity and we laughed so hard we nearly spewed chocolate chips all over the dining room floor.

After we recovered, Marie took me into the living room and turned on the TV. And here was the very best thing about her house – they had CABLE. The only thing better than watching TV was watching TV with cable! And the only thing better than watching TV with cable was watching TV with cable with a friend!

The image of an astronaut staking his claim on the moon filled the screen. The pokey-thing he was piercing the moon with had a sign on it that was changing colors. It said MTV. I pretended like I’d seen it before.

 

 

About courtrundell

Comic. Mom. Writer. Reno escapee. Recovering from alcoholism, drug addiction & bipolar disorder. I blame Reno.

Posted on February 8, 2016, in reno and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

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