Chapter One
I was known as the boy with 12 tubes of glue and no models. This caused considerable suspicion, until my mother read a story about lemon scent being put into tubes of glue to confound the waves of juvenile delinquency no doubt due to glue sniffing. She figured that, since I didn't care much for lemons, she didn't have to worry about me becoming one of those "damned ole' dog rapin' glue sniffers", as she put it in her charming east Texas way. She never noticed that I never seemed to have any airplane models, just a lot of half-empty tubes of glue lying around and a glazed look in my eyes. Maybe she thought my vacant expression was hereditary; she certainly accused my father of being "the biggest dumbass in Deaf Smith county" and I heard shrieks of "you're just like your father!" more than once.
But I never asked her how she came to that opinion. I just hung out in my room, stared at my Farrah Fawcett poster and sniffed more glue. As I got older, I started experimenting with spray paint, with disastrous consequences.
Before anyone asks: yes, this is fictional. I got sucked into that A&E show called "Intervention" tonight and I thought that some of those people needed to be "bitch slapped by sobriety" (tm 2007 Lisa Brooke). I've always been far too level headed to be either a drunk or a drug addict and I"ve never visited Deaf Smith county, either.
Happy Holidays!
4 comments:
They called me The Golden Huffer.
this is great.
The Golden Huffer- sounds like a mythical creature with one horn and a gold, drippy nose.
Priceless! You may need to bitch-slap us all again come New Years
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