Tuesday, August 23, 2005

LEG WORMS: NATURE'S NAIR
OR,
LUIGI! THAT'S A SPICY HAIRABALL!

Leo's legs are going bald from the ankles up. When I first met him he had Hobbit tufts on his toes, followed by satyr-like hair anklets, then a few inches of bald before the man-hair began again mid-calf. Now he's bald almost up to his knees. Seriously. Check it out the next time he wears his khaki shorts and grey gym socks.

Both of us are puzzled by the balding, though I am somewhat envious and overall don't care so long as it stops thigh high. Leo is growing increasingly concerned. This week he wondered aloud if he has "a worm that's eating his hair." I, in turn, wonder if he imagines the worm crawling out of Flatty at night, encircling his legs and grazing on his hair, or if he sees the worm as living inside his legs, sucking the hair back inside, spaghetti style.

Thursday, August 18, 2005

LET'S ALL MEET UP FOR OUR 110TH CLASS REUNION!
OR
WASN'T HE IN OUR DECOMPOSITION CLASS?

We got an alumni newsletter in the mail that included obituaries for recently deceased graduates. Anytime an alumnus was mentioned, his or her name was followed by something like "('84)."

Leo was reading it on the couch. Suddenly he exclaimed, "Oh! Duh! I'm so stupid." Intrigued, I asked why. "Some guy died, and they put '95' after his name. I thought they meant that was from the class of 1995, and I thought he would have died really young!"

I assumed Leo now believed the guy was 95 years old when he died. "So what do you think the '95' means?"

"Well, obviously," he said, "he was from the class of 1895, not 1995."

Friday, August 12, 2005

A PENIS IS A PENIS AND TESTICLES ARE TESTICLES, AND THERE IS A VAS DEFERENS BETWEEN THE TWO; OR, ANOTHER LEOTARDED ANATOMY LESSON.

Leo to me a couple days ago: "I am correct, right, that only men have prostates?"

Sunday, August 07, 2005

THEY'RE NOT DIRTY PILLOWS, THEY'RE BREASTS, MOTHER! OH, NO, THEY ARE DIRTY PILLOWS.

Leo has a little friend named Flatty. He has had this friend since he was eight years old, possibly earlier. "How nice," you might say. "Leo has kept in contact with a childhood friend all these years! But why does Flatty have such a strange name?"

Well, Leo keeps in very close touch with this little friend. It is his pillow.

Yes. It is a flat, bedraggled feather pillow that Linus--I mean Leo--has been dragging around for at least, by his own conservative reckoning, 27 years.

Before Flatty was dragged by a little boy's sweaty palms (and later an adloscent's hairy ones, if you know what I mean) through three different continents, countless tear-filled, post-rejection late nights, and a couple different live-in girlfriends' beds, it was an attractive thing. My guess is that it was once white and had a delicate floral pattern covering its light, airy billows.

Flatty's relationship to that former self is a bunny's relationship to the bloody, fly-infested hair pancake that the Department of Transportation eventually scrapes off the interstate. Flatty is now a macabre, unctuous mass of sebum, skin cells, and, presumably, parasites.

Flatty stains pillowcases from the inside out. Every fine white linen that is pressed against Flatty by Leo's giant head emerges looking like a Jheri-curled short-order cook was using it as a hair net as he went bobbing for French fries.

When Millie was born, Leo and I switched sides of the bed so that I could be nearer her crib. We don't have a headboard-- the bed and pillows are just pushed up to the wall. Behind where Leo was lying, the circa 1920 wallpaper was darkened as if seasoned with Crisco. Within a few short months, Flatty leeched his oils into the other side to match, so that now, if you remove the pillows from the bed, two great, greasy fleurs du mal stare out over the room. Sleeping there is like sleeping in the bed in "A Rose for Emily."

I cannot bear to touch Flatty. Sometimes when I think about where Flatty's been, I wonder how many dust mites and crabs have hopped ship and taken up residence in my fresh, virginal pillow. Is it true that when your pillow sleeps next to a pillow it sleeps next to every pillow that pillow has slept next to?

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

ADDING MORE 'TARD TO THE GENE POOL
Or,
WHAT EVERY GIRL SHOULD KNOW BEFORE MARRIAGE

Well, folks, it's been a long time since I updated. I will try to be more regular from now on--once a week or so.

Leo and I had a baby, Millie, in October. Miraculously, she was born sans tail. One of the many leotarded things about the Millstone, though, is her messed up feet. She, like her father, is a genetic anomaly. On most people, the big toe--as its name may suggest--towers above its four stubby companions, which line up in descending order to its side. For a minority of people, the toe next to the big toe is longest. But on Leo and his daughter, the MIDDLE toe freakishly juts out, and on Leo it is actually the LONGEST of the five toes. (This has, at least temporarily, been toned down on the Millstone.)

A few weeks ago I took a picture of Leo's feet, but I promised not to show it to anyone. So today I took one of Millie's foot (note the freakishly elongated middle toe):



Now, through the magic of Photoshop, I added some skanky toenails and some simian hair, elongated the middle digit, and have rendered a perfect likeness of Leo's foot. Enjoy!