When I was younger, I used to take my index finger, stick it in my nostril, give it a little wiggle, and go digging for gold. Once I got a good chunk of hard boogie, I would (brace yourselves) stick it in my mouth, chew and swallow.
All together now…eeeew!
I don’t remember where or why I picked up the yucky habit of picking the green and eating it like it was a Caesar Salad, but I do know I wasn’t willing to give it up. Maybe I felt the need to conquer those hard boogies. They were so uncomfortable and difficult to blow out into a tissue, so perhaps I thought: why not give it a go the caveman way? Soon, I became an addict. I transformed into those scrawny, skinny dudes who will suck your dick for some cash for crack. Not even all-powerful mami could coerce me to quit. She tried, dabbing my fingernails in garlic and threatening me with chankletasos, but I was obsessed!
The thing with obsession is only you can let go of whatever is holding you. It’s like that with picking boogies, smoking weed, drinking and dialing, and of course, love. Some men and women cannot release a relationship, even years after its expiration date. There are also those who become stalkers ala Fatal Attraction and refuse to see that the “relationship” is only a figment of their imagination.
That was the case with Army Boy and I. After we kissed, I distanced myself because the kiss was awful and I just wasn’t interested. He, on the other hand, decided I was “the one” and would not let it go.
“You’re so amazing. You’re smart, beautiful, creative…an older woman…you’re the whole package,” he said one night while we were on the phone.
I nodded but remained silent, unsure of what to say. He wasn’t “the one” for me and I’d told him so the day after the kiss, but he had called again, attempting to convince me of how great he was and how perfect we’d be together.
“I know the age is a problem for you, but it shouldn’t be. I’m a man, and just because my number is 20 doesn’t mean I can’t please you and meet your needs,” he pleaded.
I sighed and opened my yap to speak, “This just isn’t going to work. The age is one of many reasons…we just don’t click.”
Silence. Then something that sounded like a growl. He was angry, and I was intimidated. Army Boy was an egotistical, 20-year-old Scorpio who had spent the last 2 years training in the military. He also listened to heavy metal and drew vampires and bloody monsters as a hobby. There was no way he and I had enough in common to be “the perfect couple.” Besides, his Scorpio intensity was terrifying!
By conversations end, I hadn’t gotten much further. I knew Army Boy would call again the next night because I was the icky booger Army Boy needed to pick. No matter how much garlic doused or how many daggers were thrown, Army Boy was going to take his index finger, stick it in my nostril, give it a little wiggle, and go digging for a piece of Sujeiry gold.
Too bad I didn’t want any piece of me anywhere near his mouth.