Raised in a House Full of Females
Last night, I took 14-yr-old JackMan to Publix because after three hours of drumline practice he had a hankering for a chicken tender sub. As we were pulling out of our neighborhood road onto the main drag, a white station wagon turned into the ‘hood, right past us.
T: Ew, that was that pervert Byron who works at Publix. You know, the one with the big ol’ thick square glasses? He lives three doors down from the Testa’s old place.
J: Why did you call him a perv?
T: Well, whenever you buy feminine hygiene products, he won’t touch the boxes, except with two fingers, by the corners. You can tell it’s excruciating for him.
J: That doesn’t make him pervy.
T: Hey, it’s weird. It reeks of weirdness. Take my word for it.
J: Maybe so, but a pervert is someone who likes to sniff girls’ panties—stuff like that. No, he's the exact opposite.
T: I guess you’re right.
J: But, still, we should go when he’s working and load the cart up with Kotex and Tampax. Oh, and Midol.
T: We could throw in some Summer’s Eve and FDS too. Boy, that would really freak him out.