WARNING: The following post is offensive, insensitive and mean.
I was a teen. I smoked pot.
I also liked Iron Maiden AND Prince...this is how f*cked up I was.
What can I say.
You've been warned.
I have no idea where it was.
I never asked her.
I'm still curious.
But, let's back up...
I’m not sure why I thought about this, but I did.
In High School, I used to sit at a table with a bunch of guys.
It was basically the “leather jacket” group.
However, at our table sat a kid who – unfortunately – was in a bike accident as a kid.
As a result of the accident, he ended up with a condition of his hands and legs that caused him to walk with a severe limp with limited use of his arms and hands.
His name was Brian.
He was a friend of mine.
As such, I can retell this without feeling TOO guilty about the horrible, horrible crap we did to him.
We did a LOT of crap to him.
Kids are such pricks.
At lunch, Brian usually used to sit across from me at the table.
He would always bring a juicebox with his lunch.
As he really didn’t have a lot of function with his arms, he would – after putting in his straw – simply bend himself over to drink.
There he was...
...bent over his juicebox…
...straw in his mouth…
...hands virtually immobile.
I’d wait for the juice to enter the straw…
...casually but quickly reach across the table…
…and (being the prick I was)...
...would SQUISH the juicebox.
This would immediately send half of his juicebox’s contents flooding into his mouth.
You could tell that you had total "juice liftoff", because his eyes would completely pop out of his head…
...streaming up the straw and into his mouth…
…and sometimes, if you did it just right…the juice would come spurting out of his nose, too.
This was followed by us laughing.
(I TOLD you I was a prick)
I'm SO going to Hell.
(I'll tell Rachael Ray you all say, "hi")
He fell for it every single time.
…I’d get the payback…
…a GIGANTIC kick to my shin from his steel-toed boot.
...Brian could give back in the form of physical punishment.
He was a good kid. He could dish and take it.
One of these days he kicked me so F*CKING hard that I actually had to leave the table…
I could usually take one…
...but this day he JUST KEPT F*CKING KICKING ME in the same goddamn spot.
I guess I deserved it.
I went and sat with one of my friends’ brother, Greg, who was a lower classman.
As I was sitting there, I noticed a girl staring at me.
She smiled back.
Me: “That chick is totally checking me out.”
Greg: “Dude. You don’t know? She wants to go out with you.”
Greg: “Yeah, she’s told me before. Her name is Becky.”
That was it. I was IN.
I ended up talking to Becky on the way out.
We scheduled a date.
After that date, we scheduled more.
We went out for a couple of months.
Things were good.
I liked her.
She liked me.
I knew a lot about her.
But not all of it.
I found out what I was missing this way:
For some reason, I ended up sitting at Greg’s table with some of his friends later in the year.
At this point, Becky and I had been dating for a few months.
…one of Greg’s friends asked me:
Friend: “So…what’s the deal with her finger?”
Friend: “Her finger. What’s the story with her finger?”
Is she supposed to do some swirly thing to my ass with it?
Does it smell like poo?
I don’t understand the question.
Me: “Seriously. What the f*ck are you talking about? What finger?”
…then he drops it on me…
Friend: “Dude. She has no pinky.”
She has no pinky.
SHE HAS NO PINKY?!?
Me: “SHUT THE F*CK UP.”
They had no idea that I had no idea.
How could I have NO IDEA?
She was missing an entire finger….
…we had been going out for MONTHS….
…and I’d never noticed.
(This goes to show you how much I pay attention to parts of a girls’ body that don’t include a nipple or vagina)
Me: “No pinky? Really?”
I had no clue.
Now I HAD to look.
And, sure as sh*t, the next time we went out…
...I took my peek.
Glancing down at her hand non-chalantly…
There’s a pinky.
What are these guys talking about?
...she has TWO hands.
(again, without a nipple or vagina, these things go unnoticed)
I should probably check the other hand.
I look down again…
And there…where her pinky was supposed to be…
She was, in fact, pinky-free.
I was dating a goddamn circus freak.
Okay, okay…so she wasn’t a circus freak.
I doubt you’d be able to set up an attraction with “The Incredible Nine-Finger Harlot!” and expect any large ticket sales.
I don’t recall ever getting a handjob or anything from her…
...as I’m assuming if I did that it was fine...
...and not nine-fingerific.
Me (getting nine-fingers): “This is all good and everything…but I feel like I’m missing something….”
…although…my lack of penile length usually requires a girl to stick her pinky out anyway (like she’s properly drinking a glass of wine)…
...so maybe this was a bonus for her.
I never did get to find out why there was a missing digit.
Due to…ahem…extenuating circumstances…we broke up shortly after.
It had nothing to do with the finger.
I’m not THAT insensitive.
Just ask Brian.
If you know him, give his juicebox a squeeze, and tell him I said, “hi.”
Just watch out for his steel-toe boots.
They pack a f*cking wallop.