Tag Archives: touching

Corduroy

Corduroy: (adj) a cotton-filling pile fabric with lengthwise cords or ridges.

As a young man–being a chubby threatening to be a tubby–I was always looking for an advantage that would open the door to girls whom my basic features had failed fail to attract.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
I noticed that women liked to touch soft things, so at a thrift store I found a really plush, thick turtleneck sweater. Girls loved to run their hands up and down it. My thesis was, once they got accustomed to feeling my sweater, touching me might not seem so repugnant.

I found the same thing to be true with corduroy pants—what they referred to as the wide-wale ones. The ladies loved to reach over and stoke my leg, feeling the material.

I had no objection.

I was young—a simple touch on the knee was like an express train with the destination “Ecstasy.”

Here was the problem, though, with my corduroy pants: I had plump thighs, so when I walked my legs rubbed together and wore out the corduroy on the inside. In no time at all, I had the top of my legs covered with corduroy and the inside of my thighs looking like the cheapest cotton ever picked in Dixie.

Pretty soon it became noticeable that my pants were two different textures. Even more obvious was what caused the loss of the corduroy.

So what began as a grand plan to make connection with dear women ended up only pointing out to them that my portly limbs had totally destroyed my corduroy appeal.


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Contagious

Contagious: (adj) ability to spread from one person or organism to another by direct or indirect contact.

“Don’t forget to wash your hands. It’s flu season.”

“I don’t know if I want to go to church–so many sick people.”funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

“Seems like everybody’s got the bug.”

“Wash down those counters.”

“Clean off that toilet sink.”

“Don’t forget to pick up some more hand sanitizer–maybe we should start buying it by the case.”

All of these statements seem rational to the average consumer, because we feel it is our right to be the sole individual who does not get sick–never aware that we will be more susceptible to that sickness if we’re never exposed to it, developing the protective antibodies within us.

I personally do not see anything wrong with trying to keep oneself healthy. But once we begin to think that human beings are germ carriers, it is a slippery slope to proclaiming them dangerous, infected, criminal, rapists or even worthless.

If you are afraid of the flu, that is absolutely fine with me. If you’re using your fear of the flu to establish your superiority over other people because you are so important that you shouldn’t ever get sick, then I begin to have a problem.

I see no case in the Good Book when Jesus embraced a leper to prove he was not afraid of the contagion. But I do see that when that leper wanted to be healed, Jesus risked touching him.

 

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Mr. Kringle's Tales...26 Stories 'Til Christmas

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Chaperone

Chaperone: (n) a person who accompanies and looks after another person

Back in the day before phones told us where the hell to go, there was a yearly event called the hayride.

It was a rather simple principle–young people who were somewhat infatuated with one another, with raging hormones, were placed at
 dusk–nearly dark–onto the back of a wagon covered with hay and driven around for a while to supposedly conjure the memory of former days.

Matter of fact, even now I can remember the odor of the mingling of hay, sweat, apple cider and teenage urges filling my nostrils.

Here was the goal: it would be a fun time for the kids–and a chaperone, or maybe two, would ride on the hay to make sure things didn’t get out of hand.

The one time I went on such an excursion, I had no young lady with me (similar to going to a chili cook-off without your jalapeno).

Also, the minister who planed this particular hayride selected chaperones who happened to be recently married. So rather than watching to see what the kids did, they started making out in the front of the wagon, hiding themselves by covering up with hay.

This opened the door to a Biblical orgy. People were kissing and touching as I was…

Well, I was watching.

Little did I know that I would become the chaperone by default. Except, of course, I had no authority to stop anything, but instead, sat there and lusted in silence.

After the hayride, we arrived back–all the boys, girls and chaperones–with flushed faces and watery eyes.

When the minister asked if everybody enjoyed the hayride he received the enthusiastic “amen” that he rarely heard on a Sunday morning.

Later on, when it was revealed that our hayride was just a makeout buggy, the minister was reproved by the congregation, and as far as I know, no hayrides were ever held again.

The moral of my story is, chaperones should not be horny.

 

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