They are black like my soul.

If not a black soul, what can explain my inappropriate behavior last night when I found myself chortling gleefully at a little boy and his weary-eyed mother?

I’m sorry, but I found it entirely hilarious when, Little Jr., playing leap frog outside the Gay, miscalculated his enthusiastic hippity hop, and ended up racking himself on Target’s cheery, red statuary.

That had to hurt.

And I was thinking, it probably wasn’t nice to laugh at that little boy and his royally racked family jewels. I got to thinking, maybe I was laughing, not because it was so entirely amusing, but really I was laughing to mask my personal pain.

You see, I’ve been in Little Jr’s place many a time.

My first recollection of getting whacked in the nether regions occurred when I was nine. I went joyriding on my brother’s huffy, which was all fun and games until I hit that rock and ended up falling, full-force on to the bike’s “boy bar.” You know, it’s like boys have that long bar that slants down, whereas girls bikes have that bar that goes straight across horizontally? What’s the point of these different bars anyway? I’m pretty sure both of them hurt like the bejesus when you get a direct hit to the lou-lous.

And then there was the time when I was fourteen. Rockstar brother was taking karate and had to practice his mugu-gai-pan-something-or-other technique and decided to do a high kick to my delicates. He was really good at karate – it was a direct hit. I wanted to be proud for his skill, but mostly I just laid on the carpet and whimpered.

And who could forget that one time in college, where - wham - out of nowhere my best friend Switzy lobbed her wallet into my crotch. The best part was, when like a deer in the headlights,I looked to her face, bewildered and maybe a little bit hurt, and she started laughing. I believe her exact words to me in my time of shock and confusion were “Ha ha, I just hit you in the junk. That’s just how I imagined it!”

What kind of gurl hits their friend in the junk on purpose? Well, probably the same kind that laughs at little boys outside the Gay, I guess…

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Secret is coming and it is *not* that my college roommate calls me “horny hans.”

Posted in Reflection