My Own Dorkfession.

The time:
1980-something.

The place:
Church group camping jamboree-type thing, falling well short of Jesus Camp or whatever show XO was referring to.

The players:
Giddy Dorky middle schooler crushin’ on the junior high boys. Especially Mike, the buddy of my best friend’s older brother Rich. Unfortunately, those boys always ran in threes. The third, Kenny, was the classic loud jerk. When I say classic, I mean that I envision him as one of two things today… Best case scenario, he’s a power trippin cop that likes to demonstrate his chokeholds (and remember, I like the po-lice). Worst case scenario, far more likely in my opinion, he’s cooking meth in a trailer down a red dirt road in Igo. Part of this impression may stem from the early 80’s memory of his golden locks permed into the sweetest mullet you ever saw, complete with comb in his back pocket. Sigh. Sadly, I know the complete contents of his back pockets that day.

The Scene:
The church group structured itself loosely as a scout troop kind of gig. In the morning we would assemble to start our day, standing at attention. Being me, of course I was running late.
The boys were assembled in front of OUR tent. (WTF?) As I scrambled out of the stupid tent to assemble, I forgot the all important three inch lip at the bottom of the tent. I tripped, flailing my arms OUT for support, and somehow ended up momentarily suspended on the diagonal, with my nose buried in Kenny’s Butt--which he then screamed to our entire campsite, as well as the next three campsites.
He acted as if I had been yearning to root around in his ass like a pig looking for truffles.

There it is, one of my defining moments of dorkdom.

Won't you play along?

Bueller?


Anyone?