Forbidden Fruit and How To Be A Man: Sometimes It Hurts To Be A Man

So.  Life is full of dichotomous situations. You know what I’m talking about- those times when you are damned if you are doing, and likewise damned for don’t-ing. I encountered one of those dichotomousses the afternoon when I went over to the Sprouts there to the Arboretum.

Maybe that should be “dichotomousi”.

I wanted to take advantage of their special on sweet Italian sausage so I drove over in Gram’s Ferrari. She needed my truck to deliver some mushroom juice to a new customer, the GTO is in the shop, and the weather was too nice to pass-up on the hot red sports car. Besides, Italian food- Italian car. I was making fresh tomato souga with basil and garlic and secret ingredients. Souga is Italian for sauce, kind of like salsa is Spanish for salsa. Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson, a way-back Italian-heritaged hottie, taught me this souga recipe back when she was wife/psycho therapist and not just therapist to psychos.

Sammie hates it when I separate the “psycho” from their “therapist”, but that’s my lifetime-best joke.

I buy my sausage, and since I was there figured I might as well accommodate myself and get the two-bags full that fit in the tiny backseat of Gram’s car, and go to leave. Wait- two bag fulls. It has to be “fulls.” As I was lifting my two bags from the shopping cart to hustle off to my ride, my eyes were captured by a woman walking into the store.

Said woman was dressed for exercising and looked well exercised. Her cheeks were rubied and fully-blushed and she had a misting of sweat on all of the exposed skin not covered by the tight Lycra skin that was her hot pink workout uniform.

Of course, it is possible that the “just exercised” part of her look was just for looks, that the cheeks were blushed with makeup, and her sweaty mist was misted-on from an atomizer. In that part of town it’s maybe 60/40 either way.

Anyway, her hair had a sprinkling of gray, she was in great shape- not ripped and bulimic looking, just sleek and smooth. She had a pretty face and inviting eyes. And there, doing the pocket Rumba, sat the plumpest, juiciest-looking most robust camel toe I have ever seen. I mean ever! This thing looked like the woman was its caretaker, not its owner. It was incredible, and I don’t use the word “incredible” lightly.

Once it caught it, my eyes were captured. I stared like the moron I am from the first spotting from maybe fifty feet out in the lot, until it rumbled its way into the store and past me. It was a wonderful day here to Austin- sunny and mild, and the mild, bright sunlight sent cascades of sparkles off that shiny, pink fabric in hypnotic jumbles and swirls. By the time I managed to refocus my eyes I saw that the fifteen others around me were just getting their focus back as well.

“Holy shit,” the elderly woman standing beside me said. Then she grabbed my arm and urged to me, “Please Mister, would you look to see if I’ve got one of those?”

I did, she didn’t. I told her, “No Darling, but I do like your belly piercing.  Is that a shark’s tooth?”

Then all the other women were getting opinions from me. I guess I looked like an expert on the subject. So after a few minutes of playing FDA inspector and passing judgment, someone suggested to me, they said, “You outta tell that woman she’s packing. It would only be right.”

I went to the car and wedged my groceries to the back seat, got myself seated- a job into its ownself- started the car, and then started to thinking. A mind is a terrible thing to waste, but terribler in the wrong hands. Terrible-more?

My first actual thought was if steroids could possibly be the root cause behind this woman’s loaded crotch. But the other muscles didn’t match steroid rage, so I discounted that. I moved on to more profitable thinking and I wondered, “If a woman has a world class camel toe, should you say something to her about it?”

A very, very good question. Now, don’t shut down on me because you think I’m inappropriate. Go with me on this for just one more minute. Think about this with me.

OK. Supposition Number 1: the woman either knows that she’s got a double-wide flap of woman meat bulging from her crotchie, or not. Right? She either knows or doesn’t know.

Supposition Number 2: if she knows, she is proud, and: A, she wants you to look and compliment her, or: B, she’s trolling for a man that likes meaty-crotched ladies, in which case she wants you to comment.

Supposition Number 3: if she is totally unaware that she could play a stunt double for the butcher shop in the movie Rocky, then wouldn’t she want someone, like me, to let her know? Kind of like that dealie where you walk up to a stranger and say, “Look, I don’t want to pry into your personal business, but you have a booger hanging out your left nostril that looks like an African night crawler running from a fish hook.”

You know, that kind of situation.

So I’m thinking that maybe someone does need to man-up here and talk to the lady and since I never shirk responsibility, I’ve got a man’s job to do. I turned the Ferrari engine off, endured the exercise that is getting out of the little car, and proceeded back inside the store. I’m looking for the woman and realize all I need to do is follow the trail of glazed-over eyes.

I find the lady over to produce, inspecting a pair of the giant avocados that were on special at two for $1.00, a great price. Ever a man with a quick wit and light tongue I told her, “Don’t try to smuggle those out of here in your pants. That camel toe of yours will kick some avocado ass and you’ll be scooping your guacamole from a V-necked bowl.”

Now look. How much more clever and appropriate could a remark have been? I didn’t say, “Holy shit lady, how many days can your camel go between drinks,” or something rude. I didn’t ask her if she was ashamed of herself for keeping the poor camel cooped up, and I for sure didn’t say, “Hey lady, all I see are his feet. Where you hiding the rest of your camel?” Nope, I didn’t do any of that rude shit. I tastefully let her know that I knew and let the chips fall where the fell.

Anyway, this lady got a funny look to her face, smashed the avocados in my face, slapped me (hard) on each avocado-slathered cheek, and stormed-off to find the manager.

Having experience in similar situations, I stood where I was to wait for the store manager rather than run from the store. I have found store managers to be much better listeners than the police.

So I wait for like a minute, maybe less, for lady and manager to arrive. I think Sprouts has excellent customer service. That circumstance would take at least three minutes if we were to any HEB store. The lady tells the manager her side of the story, shows the camel toe to him after he asked to see the evidence, and told her, “Thank you, Miss. Give me your name and contact info and I will make a full report, and handle things from here.”

So, she thanks him, gives him her info, slaps me one more time for good luck, and storms off. “You,” he says as he points a stiffened index finger in my chest, “to my office.”

We get to his office and he closes the door, using the same stiffened finger points to a chair to the front of his desk, and says, “Sit.” Then he sits down behind the desk and opens the drawer to the desk and pulls out a pint bottle of Hornitos.

“Here, you first. Your exposure was far longer than mine.” He offered the bottle to me for a slug.

I obliged and passed it back and he guzzled a slug from the little bottle of tequila. He swallowed the booze with a grimace, looked first to the ceiling, and then he crossed himself in classic Catholic method. “Holy Mary, Mother of God,” he almost whimpered. “I wanted to touch that thing so bad I was shaking. I had the image of pulling a rabbit out of a hat.”  Then he pulled from the bottle again.

“I understand, young man, but that’s a forbidden fruit,” I counseled. “Men have got to be strong in the face of these new trends in womens sportswear.” I think I’m quite a good role model for this younger set.

“I’m not calling the police or anything, but we need to stay in here until she has left the parking lot.” Then he lifted his phone and had someone bring us some limes. “We need a drink.”

A young woman of maybe nineteen came in with the limes and said, “Better call the produce distributor, Harry. We’re almost out of avocados.”

Harry and I are now friends and he is coming over for Easter dinner out to the ranch. We’re having ham and potato salad and beans and guacamole. When I asked him who he was bringing for his date he said, “You’ll see.”


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15 Responses to “Forbidden Fruit and How To Be A Man: Sometimes It Hurts To Be A Man”

  1. Angry Texas Woman says:

    Mr. Johnson,

    Do you think you are funny? You really are inappropriate and an embarrassment to all Texans. You have a filthy mouth and I would love to wash it out with soap.

    How do you live with yourself and how do you sleep at night? That poor woman you humiliated must be suicidal.

    Shame on you Mooner Johnson. Shame, shame on you!

  2. admin says:

    Dear ATW,

    Thanks for the kind words. I have learned to live with myself because nobody else can and I just hate bieng alone.

    I sleep like a puppy with a belly full of Momma’s milk because I take my Gram’s sleeping potion called, “Shot Up and Go To Sleep.” I can get you a discount on the quart size if you want some.
    Please keep reading and commenting.


  3. admin says:

    Sorry for the tpyo- that potion is called, “Shut Up And Go To Sleep.” My Gram also has a potion called, “All Shot Up With No Place To Bleed.” But that’s not a sleep fixer.

  4. Unhappy With My Toe says:

    I can’t decide if you are serious or just another sicko who makes fun of us women with enlarged labia. It is in embarrassing problem to have for those of us who have them.

    It is impossible for me to wear anything other than a loose-fitting dress and anytime I wear pants I must cover them with a frumpy blouse. I have a darling figure and a world-class rear end, but I simply can’t show it. My mounds are extra large and will protrude from even the loosest jeans.

    And don’t start in on me about any perceived benefits, Mr. Johnson. Most men are simply too immature to look past the over-large package and focus on the treasures it protects.

    Maybe you are serious and want to help. Some women wear tight clothing to accentuate their “average” mounds. Any woman who accentuates isn’t really “packing” as you so eloquently stated. I actuallly have a good friend who got injections to plump hers up for when she goes to the gym. She is sick.

    I don’t know where I’m going with this, but I want to say, “Thank you for helping.” Or maybe,, “Fuck you, asshole.”

    You know which to choose.

  5. admin says:

    Dear Unhappy,

    Thank you for your comments. I am having a little trouble understanding why it bothers you so much to have excess baggage in your drawers. As a man, I suffer from the same fears as most men do, the obvious possibility that I might weigh-in to a heavyweight fight with a bantam-weight weapon. Too little is our fear, not too much.

    I have only one wife with oversized mounds but I do have indepth experience with hers. Look, Unhappy, this isn’t like bosoms where, “Anything more than a mouthfull is a waste.” No siree Bob, this is one of those, “The more the merrier,” dealios. I refuse to go into the many ways your extra-womanly charms can be advantageous, as this is a PG-Rated blog.

    However, post another confidential comment and I’ll privately provide you some full disclosure.

    The bottom line to me about all of this camel toe business is this. Show it if you want to. Hell, for that matter shine a spotlight on it. But remember that, men being men first and last, we will find a way to dehumanize it. But also know this: if men had labia and a man had one that was way oversized, that puppy is front and center and hanging out in something tight and see-through.

    Book it!


  6. Theresa D. St.Johnswort says:

    Mr. Moon,
    Just a quick note, after reading your latest post about diatomacious situations. Yes, that agave juice works for various situations, but you would have a more spiritual outcome if we could perfect the concoction and its delivery so you could have it at your disposal at all times. Otherwise you’re likely to suffer from a dangerus case of susto, or fright, which I probably need to describe to you in more detail for your own sake, just in case you aren’t a believer. Also if you look at anyone too long, you can create an injurious situation called mal ojo. Even an accidental encounter with this can result in a disease. At least all parties, especially women, should be aware of the words which will break the spell of mal ojo: “Dios te guarde tan linda”, or “God keep your pretty baby”. Also the agave potion which I’m working on will hopefully have the same effect. In the meantime, try not to touch or look.
    Pss, Tell your abuela, I appreciated the delivery.

  7. Jessi says:

    Dear Friends, Happy Easter!!

  8. admin says:

    And to you and yours.

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  10. admin says:

    Thanks Lasik.

    Keep your eyes peeled and please pass it on.

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  13. admin says:

    Thanks Add.

    Please stay tuned.

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