Humor at someone else's expense

We’ve been listening to Norah Jones newest album this morning, eating mangoes and bananas, reading books, watching the sunlight bounce off the palm leaves. If the eyes are squinted, even the swinging fly traps can be aesthetically pleasing. A basic start to the day in the tropics.

Yesterday’s story was so maudlin I think I need to cleanse the palate. I do have one funny story I love to tell at parties, accompanied by character voices, body charades and pointed pauses.  I am no David Sedaris so bear with me.

TWO fourteen year old twin girls, living eight miles outside of Nowhere Town, were trapped inside their house one hot summer afternoon. As a matter of fact, Holly and Heidi were not even allowed near the windows. Now, this particular limitation was self-imposed, for outside the window was their father.  He was washing the little blue Toyota truck while their mother, little brother, and the exchange student Arne gone for the day.

The reason the girls stayed in their room? He was standing in the sun-dappled country driveway with a Budweiser in one hand, a running hose in the other.  He was wearing a pair of tighty-whitey’s (though no longer tight or white), a weathered pair of Romeo’s on his feet.  Most horrifying for the girls, who had seen their santa-bellied father in his underwear many times, was that the Fruit of the Looms were now wet . . . and see-through.

Lounging on the top bunk, sweltering, Holly looked up from The Scarlet Letter, hearing a noise out front. Heidi, sunk into the world of trashy teenage novel, did not stir. And then, shot from a double cannon, the girls startled and bolted. The noise was a car approaching, winding up the long driveway.

“Oh no.”

In awkward haste, they stumbled through the living room, crouching at the window. Their father had also heard the car.  He stood frozen for a minute.  Then, in a split second decision that the two girls would never understand (why not just come into the house?), he put the beer on the roof of the truck and stepped into the cab. He pulled the door shut, arm propped casually in the open window, holding the still running hose.

Another small truck pulled in, crunching the gravel as it parked.

“Oh no. No. That can’t be . . . “ Heidi and Holly lay flat on the floor, defeated. But the train wreck couldn’t be ignored. They shared a long look and then crouched back at the sill, watching their teenage reputation settle firmly into outcast status.  Emerging from the truck was Russ, the senior quarterback and most popular boy in the history of the world.

“Hey there, Russ! What are you up to today?” their father exclaimed heartily from his seat in the truck, looking for all the world like this was how he spent every afternoon.

Russ, either too confused and polite to mention the water spewing from the truck, or intimidated into silence on the subject by the hairy Viking of a man sitting in front of him, simply said, “Hiya Gary. I was just wondering if you knew where Arne was?”

Then Russ went on to ask him about the salmon run, duck hunting, the trap line, all the while avoiding the obvious weird situation.

Finally, the father could no longer keep up the charade. Heidi and Holly heard it in his voice, when he said, “Well, you caught me Russ. I was just washing the truck . . .” His door started the slow creak.

“Don’t do it, Dad. For God’s sake, no!!!!”

Quite obviously, God was on vacation that day.

Their father emerged from the rusted cab. Unfortunately, he did not realize the already well-stressed elastic around the right leg was caught on the window roller. He strided out, confidently, while the worn cloth barely made a sound, ripping from the leg to the waist. Their father wasn’t just caught wearing dingy underwear, he was caught with his dick hanging in the wind.

“I’m blind! I’m blind!” Holly screamed, rolling on the floor, clawing at her eyes. Neither of them saw Russ’s reaction or retreat. They eventually heard the truck peal out and scuttled back to their room, threw themselves into Heidi’s bottom bunk, pulling the blanket over their heads. 

At least ten minutes of silence and stilted breathing passed.

Finally, Holly said, “Is he still outside? Washing the truck naked?”

Heidi said, “ You know we can’t go to school tomorrow.”

Holly said, “Or ever.”

NOTE: Russ, probably the only nice 18 year old ever to live, never said a word at school.  Also, Heidi was probably reading the literary book while I was reading the trashy novel. I just thought I’d tweak her a bit. I haven’t been able to snap her bra strap in a long time. Finally, sorry Dad. This one was too good to keep in the family vault. Frankly, I let it free a long time ago.