Dodo Eggs

Two stories are being presented.  One is embossed with the gilded letters of truth.  The other etched into the gates of Hell by a forked chisel.  Which is which?

Egg #1- Some things are a little hard to explain…gravity, what’s in a hot dog, the smell coming from your brother’s room, and my actions on a Sunday during my 21st year. 

My head is a little like a bowling ball with a widow’s peak. Hats just never seemed to fit right.  I’ve even turned them backward in a vain effort to look cool.  The only hat that seems to work for me is a fur-lined fedora.  Unfortunately they won’t sell them to anyone under sixty-five.    

I finally found a regular ball cap that didn’t look like it was shrink wrapped to my head and I went a bit overboard with it.  It stayed on my head wherever I went.  The hat followed me to work and even the gym.

And then I did something I will never understand.

A friend of mine asked me to attend church with her.  She went to a large Southern Baptist church on the outskirts of Memphis.  There are strong norms associated with these church services one being; men do NOT wear ball caps to the SERVICE!

Only now do I finally understand why she kept introducing me and adding, “He’s really not from around here.”  Once she tried to pass me off as a foreigner, “You know he’s from Dakota.  Have you ever heard of it?”

Egg #2- I experienced a dating drought in college I called, “Available with No Car.”

When car keys eventually found their way into my pockets again, I wasn’t sure I even knew how to date.  It seemed easy enough: one part restaurant, one part movie, three parts stress sweat, and zero parts smoochy-smoochy.  (At least, that was the recipe handed down to me.)

One of my first dates involved a stop at a Mexican restaurant followed by the movie of her choosing.  I had caked the Machismo Man Musk (or some scent close to it, I can’t remember exactly) antiperspirant under my arms in the vain hope that I could thwart flop sweating.

It failed and before I picked her up, my underarms were sweating like a comic telling knock-knock jokes.  Keeping my elbows off the table at the eatery was no issue.  Near the end of our meal, I could feel the conversation opening up and my stress starting to abate.

We were sitting together in theater when a related problem arose.  I wasn’t sweating anymore but I had developed a strong case of body odor.  I excused myself to the bathroom.   I washed under my arms but it didn’t seem to help.

When I returned she looked at me and whispered, “Well, you know it’s not too forward to put your arm around me.”

My eyes grew wide and my throat clenched tight.  Then I had an idea. 

“Well I don’t know.” I began.  “I spilt some salsa on my shirt and the onion in it kind of smells.  Is that ok?  I tried to wash it off but it’s not coming.”

She replied, “Ok.”

My date didn’t say a word about noticing my odor the rest of the evening.  In fact, she really didn’t say much of anything. 

I don’t know whether she completely bought my silly ploy.  We never went out again and I switched brands of antiperspirant.
 
…So, which one’s the truth and which did I make up?  Also, ChiefDodo has visited Good Egg & Bad Egg 3.  Go find out the truth.

• Good Egg or Bad Egg? (Part II)
• Good Egg or Bad Egg?
• Testing Love
• Male Studies Letter 12, Page 3
• Good Egg & Bad Egg #7