This was a Patreon early release months ago. I hope that even in its unfinished state, it makes you laugh.
I was a kid, I was self-conscious. Not a great revelation, I realize. We were
all kids, and to some extent, we were all self-conscious. But my
sensitivity was different. How?
frigid February morning, the ground was slick with crunchy ice in our tiny Indiana town. Kids everywhere were reluctantly pushed out their front doors encased in layers of mismatched nineties knitwear. Any scene from a horror movie where zombies emerge from tombs comes to mind. In this case, picture the zombies as tiny, grumpy, and inconvenienced instead of starving for human flesh. Cartoon puffs of winter breath dotted the still, snowless air.
I was a "walker". I lived six blocks away from school and normally I braved the cold.
Our kind fireman neighbor emerged from his front door across the street, his two youngest daughters in tow. He was tough. Like the Brawny paper towel man. He had a blonde moustache. Also like the Brawny paper towel man. He saw me ambling in the general direction of the school, a slow-moving pile of barely animated scarves, and wordlessly gestured to me that I should come catch a ride in his pickup truck.
I Stay-Puft Marshmallowed my was across the street. It was too cold for words. Cowboy head nods would have to do.
He got into the driver's side. His two youngest
daughters climbed into the middle of the front seat. These girls were
everything I wanted to be. They were stylish, pretty, and popular. They were
good at sports and they smelled like Jean Nate, the fanciest childhood perfume of the nineties. Their family was comprised of
five beautiful sisters with blonde, silky hair, a perfect collection of living Barbies. Whether I
was wrong or right to think this, I felt like Igor anytime they were around.
Not a Klingon. A nerd. Professional grade. All-star.
hopped, as much as one could hop in a spacesuit, into the truck last. Then, I closed the passenger door behind me—on my right thumb. That’s not the weird part.