For Jennifer--Rated PG13
Day 8 of Nanowrimo (challenge, use the word "extuitive"):
Let me step back and describe Mazo: I met him my first week at Tulane. I had just gotten back from yet another keg party after yet another orientation. This was pre-anyone caring how old you were to drink and drinking was pretty much what we did. I was tired. I was slightly drunk. I wanted a warm shower and bed. At just after 2 a.m., I walked into the women’s room with my cheerful green plastic tub of shampoos and soaps and found this student of the male persuasion, standing naked at the sink, shaving. His chest.
“Aloha, amiga!” he called out, waving his electric razor before returning to himself in the mirror. He seemed to be making some sort of design in his chest hairs. On his arm was a large tattoo that I’d later discover was supposed to be the Chinese characters for potent, but turned out to be total gibberish.
“Um, you know there’s a men’s room down the hall,” I said.
“Yeah, but it’s always gunked up,” he replied. “Women are so much neater.”
I couldn’t help but glance at the mess he was making in the sink with the tiny hairs scattering everywhere.
“See what I mean?” he said. “I’m a total slob.”
“I’m way too buzzed to pick apart the gender generalizations you’re making, but could you get out so I can shower?”
He shrugged. “I’m almost done.”
All I wanted was sleep. “What the hell,” I muttered to myself, and went ahead and turned on the hot water. When he made no moves to leave, I just undressed and began to shower.
“I like you,” he said.
“You like me or my boobs?” I asked from inside the shower. The water was making me drowsier and I just wanted to melt down right there and take a nap.
“I like you,” he answered. “Your boobs are a little small for my tastes.”
“You don’t know me.” I picked up the soap and started lathering.
“I can just tell these things. I’m extuitive like that.”
“Extuitive? That isn’t even a real word.”
“Sure it is. It’s the opposite of intuitive. It’s so clear we’re going to be friends, no intuition involved. It’s extuitive.”
“And it’s clear because…?”
“You weren’t the least bit fazed when you walked in here.”
“No,” I answered, rinsing off and letting the water run down my head. “For me to be fazed, you’d have to have a much bigger dick.”
He laughed. “Touche. Now I know we’re going to be best friends.”
And damn, if he wasn’t right.
Let me step back and describe Mazo: I met him my first week at Tulane. I had just gotten back from yet another keg party after yet another orientation. This was pre-anyone caring how old you were to drink and drinking was pretty much what we did. I was tired. I was slightly drunk. I wanted a warm shower and bed. At just after 2 a.m., I walked into the women’s room with my cheerful green plastic tub of shampoos and soaps and found this student of the male persuasion, standing naked at the sink, shaving. His chest.
“Aloha, amiga!” he called out, waving his electric razor before returning to himself in the mirror. He seemed to be making some sort of design in his chest hairs. On his arm was a large tattoo that I’d later discover was supposed to be the Chinese characters for potent, but turned out to be total gibberish.
“Um, you know there’s a men’s room down the hall,” I said.
“Yeah, but it’s always gunked up,” he replied. “Women are so much neater.”
I couldn’t help but glance at the mess he was making in the sink with the tiny hairs scattering everywhere.
“See what I mean?” he said. “I’m a total slob.”
“I’m way too buzzed to pick apart the gender generalizations you’re making, but could you get out so I can shower?”
He shrugged. “I’m almost done.”
All I wanted was sleep. “What the hell,” I muttered to myself, and went ahead and turned on the hot water. When he made no moves to leave, I just undressed and began to shower.
“I like you,” he said.
“You like me or my boobs?” I asked from inside the shower. The water was making me drowsier and I just wanted to melt down right there and take a nap.
“I like you,” he answered. “Your boobs are a little small for my tastes.”
“You don’t know me.” I picked up the soap and started lathering.
“I can just tell these things. I’m extuitive like that.”
“Extuitive? That isn’t even a real word.”
“Sure it is. It’s the opposite of intuitive. It’s so clear we’re going to be friends, no intuition involved. It’s extuitive.”
“And it’s clear because…?”
“You weren’t the least bit fazed when you walked in here.”
“No,” I answered, rinsing off and letting the water run down my head. “For me to be fazed, you’d have to have a much bigger dick.”
He laughed. “Touche. Now I know we’re going to be best friends.”
And damn, if he wasn’t right.
Labels: nanowrimo
1 Comments:
Awesome! You even used "extuitive" in the manner it was defined to me. Now that it's out there in cyberworld, I'm sure it will come into every day use. Perhaps, one day, it will even show up on such fine websites as www.corkandknife.com.
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