The Crown Prince Of Poor Timing

You have these friends and they have good intentions.

But . . . 

She was your lab partner in Biology – you dissected Frogs together.

She was warm, she was friendly, she had a great smile. She would touch your arm. Every so often she would reach over and hold your hand – you would melt. Right there – on the spot – mind reduced to mush

Your friends swore up and down she liked you. She said so – they heard it – they knew – for sure – 100 percent.

Sometimes she’d hug you just before class – happy to see you – that was a sign.

You were hooked. Summer was coming – perfect girlfriend season.

Station 8 – Coppertone – Dog On A Stick – making out under the pier. You could see your future and it was incredible. She was blonde – you started to imagine her with a tan. You started to imagine her in bed. You were laying the groundwork for sleepless nights.

You had to do something. You had all the signs but you didn’t have the clincher – the one move that was going to make all the difference in the world.

Break the ice – a lip-lock – tonsil hockey – heavy breathing – run-on confessions. You’ve had designs on her since 10th grade. Time had come.

Right place – right time. Had to find both.

Your friends gave advice – been there/done that advice.

Forget perfect timing – just dive in. She’s waiting.

You turned nervous – excited mostly.

Last day before Summer Vacation – now or never.

Cornered her on the way to class, bending over the water fountain.

She smiled – you went for the lips.

Made contact – tongue leapt out and started to go exploring.

She screamed – she bolted back – she pretended to throw up.

She sounded like Lucy van Pelt yelling “DOG LIPS!!” – you felt like Charlie Brown, or at least Snoopy.

You froze – you felt stupid – you were confused.

Signs? What signs? She already had a boyfriend – couldn’t you tell?

No, actually – what about all that touchy-feely?

She does that to everybody, Didn’t you notice?

You blockhead.

She turned on you. You had the wrong idea – you were a nice guy and all that but. . . Not boyfriend material.

Shot down in flames – blowing up mid-air. All passengers on board – felt like god’s own asshole.

You’re never listening to your friends again.

But they could’ve sworn . . . .

You’re going to spend the entire Summer locked in your room, hiding.

No human contact – just you and your radio – and a stack of Playboys.

With any luck you’ll be fit for human consumption – probably around the year 2000.

Or something . . . .maybe next life.

And to go with your slice of Monastery living, here’s a half-hour’s worth of Charlie Tuna from KHJ – June 12, 1969.