When I was a younger, more impressionable youth I dated a girl named “Jenny.” I only put her name in quotations to emphasize her name. This is not a made up name. I really did date a girl named “Jenny.” Okay, so now that I’ve put her name in quotes twice, maybe it’d be better if I italicized her name?
When I was a younger, more impressionable youth I dated a girl named Jenny. (Oh that’s much better!) Jenny was sweet-natured and kind. She had curly brown hair. Her smile lit up the room. She had a laugh that was as infectious and she just made you want to be close to her. And when we fucked…oh man, it was really, really , really good fucking. Like sparklers and bacon good. That’s how good the fucking me and Jenny did was.
I can’t tell you how much I loved this girl. Well, I loved her as much as anyone can at that age. After all, this was before I had grown and matured into the strapping man I am today. By “strapping” I mean that I like to wear a strap-on dildo around the house. Sure, my kids are probably scarred for life, but is being a parent really about your kids?
We’d walk on the beach, Jenny and I. We’d go see the popular films of the day. We’d take long drives to nowhere and do more of that Sparklers and Bacon Fucking that I mentioned before. We went to a Weird Al Yankovic concert. The point I’m trying to make here is that we did a lot of shit together. We were tight, super close.
Then one day, it all went awry. I can’t say for sure when or where it happened for her, but I do know when I knew things had changed. It was a day like any other. Jenny was out of town at a work conference. Being unemployed for the last four years, I was doing what anyone in my situation would be doing at 11am. I was in a bar, drinking…heavily of course. (Anything worth doing is worth doing right.)
As is my custom, I like to urinate in bar urinals when I’m drinking there. I know, I know. It’s just a weird thing I do. Don’t judge. So on this fateful day, I set my Rusty Nail down on the bar top and strolled to the bathroom, and into the first available stall. Being that it was 11 o’clock I had my pick. Choosing a urinal, I unzipped my trousers.
Then it happened. At first I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was surely dreaming…but no. There written in black Sharpie, were the words that would forever change my life:
FOR A GOOD TIME. FOR A GOOD TIME CALL: 867-5309 JENNY
What the fuck? That was her number. That was my Jenny’s number. I shrugged it off. Maybe it was written a long time ago. So I finished my business and walked back to the bar, sitting down next to my good friend Tommy. He always wore shirts that had two colors on them. Half would be orange, the other yellow, or whatever. We’d call him Tommy “Wears Two Different Shades of Color.” Catchy, huh?
As I’m sitting down, I notice that Tommy’s twirling something in his hands. It’s a motherfucking SHARPIE. I ask him, “Just what the fuck are you doing, man?” Tommy was taken aback. “Wears Two Different Shades of Color” doesn’t like being challenged in this way. He gave me a look.
“Seriously, what the fuck are you doing man?!” This time I was fuming mad.
“What are you talking about?”
“You just wrote some shit on the wall in the bathroom, huh?”
“Uh. Maybe.”
“Why? WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT, ‘WEARS TWO DIFFERENT SHADES OF COLOR”?”
“Well, I mean, for starters I don’t like you. You’re kind of a bitch. You have no job. You have a shitty sense of humor. And you’re always making me smell your finger after you and Jenny do it. Plus, you let my sister blow you last year, and that’s just not cool.”
“So you’re telling me that because of a personality conflict-”
“And the fact that you let my sister suck your cock.”
“Whatever. And because I let your sister knob my Goblin, you wrote that shit on the bathroom wall about my Sweet Jenny?”
“Well, yeah. That and she and I had sex last week. In your bed. I finally know what you meant by ‘bacon and sparklers.’ That was intense.”
I didn’t know what to do. I was left feeling cold, and empty. I never spoke to Jenny ever again. I was supposed to pick her up from the airport, but I got her a cab instead. When she got home, I had packed all my things (being broke and jobless, it was mostly stuff she had bought.), and I left her a note.
I found that note the other day, and this is what it said:
Dear Jenny,
That was really fucked up what you did to me with “Wears Two Different Shades of Color.” I forgave you right away. But I know now I will never forget. So I must go. I hope you don’t mind, but I ate your last Hot Pocket and I took out $2000 from your savings account to put down a deposit on a really sweet condo in the city. Thanks for letting me have access to your PIN. I’ll pay you back as soon as I’m on my feet.
Heartbroken,
Peter
I showed her. My name isn’t Peter.
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