**At some point in yesterday's festivities it hit me: I can't believe I'm flirting with The Tampon.
No, my dears, I haven't gone off the deep end and bought a box of Playtex and started hitting on its contents. Okay that makes no sense. Right. Let me explain.
Halloween 2005. I make the horrific mistake of turning a little boy's Spider Man costume (bought at the high end retailer that is CVS mind you) into a frightening drag version of Spider Ma'am (See...when I tried on the costume on after buying it, it didn't fit -- which really shouldn't have been all of that surprising considering I'm not an eight-year-old boy. Anyway I cut the torso off --it had fake muscles, by the way, and I looked jacked -- and I made the legs into leggings underneath a vinyl mini-skirt. Wow, wonder why I didn't get any action that night, hehe. But believe it or not there was one worse off than me.
Karen and I kept seeing this guy walking around our house.
'Who is the bloodied lamb? I asked.
'Oh no, L. I hear he's a tampon.'
E Needless to say I don't think any women went near him the whole night. The next morning, we even found bits of his, er, costume all over our front lawn.
That was the last time I saw him...until Shamrockfest.
I didn't recognize him at first, well without the cotton. But after a while as beer guzzling folks swirled around us, I found him quite funny.
'So it's nice meeting you Larissa.'
'Well, I'd say likewise, but we've actually met before.'
'Yup although I looked like a freakish Spider Man in drag, while you were well...The Tampon. Although I must say you have more personality than I expect an average tampon would have these days.'
He laughed. 'Well how much personality do your tampons have?'
Ick. Moving on...
Aside from that comment though, I was really enjoying talking to Tamp-- okay let's call him Steve. He was hilarious, had these sunglasses that made him look like Ali G. and we both reveled in our shared love of cooking.
Walking back from the beerfest to the following party at our house, we linked arms and ran around trying to throw my funnel cake sugar on each other's faces. It was oh so sugary sweet. I stole his hat, he remarked how much better it looked on me, we lounged on a blanket in the backyard and watched basketball on a TV I had dragged outside. It was warm and wonderful.
Except then our tipsy levels went off kilter. While I had a nice little buzz, he started taking swigs from a bottle of rum his buddies were passing around and smoking up in the corner of the backyard. He got fucked up, well I didn't. Hence the mackage plummeted. Pretty soon he was talking straight gibberish. Huh.
It was later in the night that I walked outside to find him wrestling with another dude in the backyard. Hmm. This was after I had rushed into my porch to stop two of his friends from fighting (one of which was the infamous Houston). Dad would be proud, ha. But hey I'm not going to standby and watch my place get trashed (one of the guys had thrown a table).
Before Steve left, he asked for his hat. Damn. I was hoping he'd forget. Not just because I wanted to wear it for a day (it was really cute!) but I wanted to do a little recon on Steve and find out what he was like when he hadn't been drinking for 12 hours straight. I handed it over. (Note boys, if a girl steals a hat or something of a hat's equivalent from you there's probably a chance she likes you. If you dig her, let her hang on to it, you'll get it back. If you don't, get it back while you still have the chance.)
So the recon failed, but Karen just walked in a moment ago and I asked her what she knew about Steve. Sure he had been acting a little weird....but maybe there was still hope?
'He lives with his girlfriend --who he happens to never mention--and he doesn't even pay rent. He's funny though isn't he?'
'Oh and he offered to be the father of my children.'