- big mouth
I saw my neighbor from across the hall later that evening. Yes, through my peephole.
There she was coming home, carrying a bag of groceries. Only, the strange thing about it was: it was Thursday. So much for routine.
I wanted so badly to go and help her, to ask if that had indeed been her at the grocery store; but I knew I couldn’t. What would I say? What if she answered? Like that’s any way to pick up a girl.
I was about to abandon my peephole altogether when all of a sudden I see TJ coming into the picture. That’s right: the one and only TJ Max. And guess what? You got it; he’s wearing his AL shirt.
What’s more, he’s carrying a bag of groceries, standing right behind her as she slid her key into the door. It was right at that moment I began to feel light-headed. A sharp tingle ran down my spine. My feet went numb. Little did I know, it was the feeling of going into action. I had never gone into action before.
It all happened so fast. So fast, in fact, that I completely disregarded a University of Arizona study showing grocery bags not only carry coliform bacteria, but E. Coli as well. That’s right, E. Coli. Fecal matter.
It was all like some kind of dream. I don’t remember unlocking my door, turning the deadbolt, sliding back the barrel bolt, or unhooking the chain at all. All I know is suddenly there I was, walking towards her in the hall.
“Well, hello there,” she said.
I asked if I could help her with her bags.
“Too late, Opie,” said TJ, and he was halfway in the door by now.
Then, just as it looked like all was lost, TJ unwittingly threw me a lifeline. He was holding the grocery bag askew and a tomato fell out onto the floor. It was divine intervention: divine “tomato” intervention.
I stepped right on that tomato, slipping and falling and yes, hitting my head—again. What are the odds?
Next thing I knew, I was waking up on the floor.
“Are you okay?” she said.
She talked to me. She actually talked to me.
“Your poor head.”
“The old pity ploy,” said TJ. “Well played.”
Having been one-upped, TJ quietly slipped into the shadows, then slithered away altogether.
She placed her hand on the back of my head. “Don’t get up,” she said. “You’ve got a nasty little bump, but you’ll survive.”
There it was again.
Was it her? Sure seemed like it. And still, I didn’t even know her name. Think, Arlen. Think.
Jenny? Jackie? Sally? Not even close.
Then, just like in the movies, a breeze came in from an open window, and it carried her fragrance with it: Dolce & Gabbana. It was her.
“Hi,” she said, still holding my head, “my name is Fanny.”
Fanny…
Did you know that the average person’s rectum contains HPV (Human papillomavirus) and transmits bacterial organisms that can lead to genital infection, warts, even cancer?
Not now!
I told her my name was Allen. Alren. Arlen. Shit! See what I mean? Bumbling fool.
“Seems like nim-nims and love apples are in confederacy against you,” she said.
It was her for sure: my angel.
Love apples? Oh yeah. But the real question was, how did she know about nim-nims? What I mean is: How did she know I call bananas nim-nims?
Then, for reasons I guess I’ll never really know—or maybe it was just the bump on my head talking—my mouth opened right up, without conferring with my brain at all, and asked her if she would like to go out some time. With me!
She didn’t say a word, staring at me the whole time.
Oh my God. What had I done now?
Staring.
My mouth never went off on its own like that. She must have thought me some kind of lunatic.
Still staring.
Yet, it wasn’t the craziest idea ever. Okay, so we’d never formally spoken, but we weren’t total strangers. We were neighbors, after all.
“Dinner?” she said. “Sure. Why not?”
I breathed again.
But when?
“How about tomorrow?” she said.
Tomorrow? But that was so soon. So definite.
And where?
“I’ll tell you what,” she said. “You decide where.”
She couldn’t have given me a worse answer. Still, I shook my head in agreement.
“Well then, it’s a date,” she said. “Try not to hurt yourself till then,” Then, she helped me to my feet.
Hurt myself? Oh. Humor. Of course.
After she closed the door to her apartment, as I was standing there all alone in the hallway, it dawned on me that the average doorknob has over two million germs per square inch. I got the hell out of there.
Who was I all of a sudden, Don Juan? More like Don Knotts.
Fanny…
Did you know that the average person’s rectum contains HPV (Human papillomavirus) and transmits bacterial organisms that can lead to genital infection, warts, even cancer? Have you ever known anyone with cancer of the anus? First your asshole starts itching, then bleeding. After completely rotting away, what’s left of it just falls off. The awful truth is, polymicrobial infection is actually quite common.
Oral contact with the anus, also known as anilingus, or “rimming”, can spread intestinal bacteria known to cause chlamydia, shigella, chancroid, even STIs like herpes, gonorrhea, and syphilis. A good washing before having oral sex with the anus, or even an enema, can reduce the chances of spreading harmful bacteria.
While some recommend using mouthwash right after anilingus to kill off and perhaps even prevent the further spreading of anal bacteria, research cannot confirm this. It has been proven, however, that using mouthwash after licking someone’s asshole does make for fresher breath.
The moment I stepped back inside my apartment, I started panicking. A date? I hadn’t been on a date since high school, and we all know how that turned out. A restaurant? Was I out of my fucking mind? Do you have any idea how many germs there are crawling all over the average restaurant?
Did you know that waiters often grab drinking glasses by the rim, passing millions of germs from their hands to your mouth in the process?
How was I going to do it? How was I going to go a restaurant? So I thought back to the other day at the grocery store, where it all began: with that hard knock to my head.
That part, at least, I remembered vaguely, and it got me to thinking. What exactly happened with that blow to my head? There was a ringing in my ears, sure, and a pounding headache. Okay. But I’ve had headaches before.
So what really happened that made it all right? That made it so, at least for a few brief moments, I didn’t even care that the average human has ten times more bacteria than actual cells, a major factor in digestive disorders, skin fungi, and gum disease? And then my big fat brain got this idea.
That joggin’ to my noggin must have knocked something loose. Seriously, I read once where a blow to the head can cause actual brain damage, albeit fleeting. How much exactly, I couldn’t be sure. What I was sure of was that I wanted to get back there. Not to the grocery store. What I mean is, I wanted to feel that way again: at ease, unafraid; and if killing off a few brain cells was my ticket back to the land of Oz, then bring on the whirlwinds. I never said it was good idea.
Killing off brain cells, huh? That’s a no-brainer. Booze, and lots of it. Just get a case of the hard stuff and get busy. I did think about it. I really did consider it. But drunks aren’t a pretty sight, and after all, being an alcoholic is hard work. I’d seen Barfly, The Lost Weekend, and On the Bowery. I didn’t want to end up like that.
I could start smoking marijuana. I’d seen Half Baked, too.
There were a few potheads who lived in my building and they seemed pretty brain dead. They moved slow, they talked slow, and one time when I asked one of them what time it was it took him about a minute to realize he wasn’t even wearing a watch.
But being a bubblehead meant growing my hair long, wearing army fatigues, and eating. A LOT. Stoners get the munchies—all the time—and when you get the munchies you’ll eat anything. Besides, becoming a hippie would mean an end to taking baths. No sir, smoking marijuana was not for me.
Anyway, these methods were too slow and carried with them a social component that just wasn’t necessary for my purposes. Too complicated. What I needed were results, plain and simple, and I needed them fast. My date was just twenty-four hours away, and the clock was ticking.
So I got this idea. It involved a chicken. It also involved a rubber mallet, but we’ll get to that soon enough.
