Memoir Monday: The Time I Wish I Had Wonk Eye

Travis does this Monday Memoir thing. Tell a story from your past and blah, blah, blah, whatever.

I have wanted to tell these stories for while, every since I was inspired by This Post from Steamy Becky.

Make sure you read her hilariousness.

My stories are about a family that lived in the area where I grew up.

The members of this family were troll-like in stature.

Not midgets or dwarves. But kind of small and roundish, like little trolls that people put on their desks, minus the long neon hair.

Besides their trollish stature, they all seemed to suffer from the condition commonly known as “Wonk” eye.

I forget the medical name for this condition.

Maybe walleye or slow eye or Marty Feldman eye.

Regardless, they had strange eyes, which their GINORMOUS corrective lens attempted to help with, but the success of which was doubtful.

I’m talking double Coke bottle thick.

Like, NASA probably asked to borrow them when designing the prototype for the Huble Space Telescope.

Probably the saddest/strangest/unjustiest thing was that both parents were employed as local Rent-A-Cops.

Yes, these were the people sent to direct traffic after the Football or Basketball games let out.

This only invariably caused more traffic jams, as NO ONE could tell who they were telling to stop and who they were telling to go.

When one eye is looking one way, and the other is looking somewhere else, and they are finger pointing another direction entirely, while yelling, “I’m talking to YOU! GO!”; well, you can see (hahahaha) the confusion.

Usually, people just got pissed and ignored them and went anyway.

However, this only caused more arm raising and yelling and more misdirected pointing by them, like they were angrily standing under a bridge that you wanted to cross.

Anyeye,

Their daughter was in my class. Now, in her defense, she was always very sweet and nice to me.

In a trollish, wonkeye, heavy lisp-ish kind of way.

Unfortunately, the good Lord saw fit to bless this young women from a very early age with the BIGGEST bazooms any of us had seen in our young lives.

Poor thing was taller when she laid down then when she stood up.

Back to my story,

So there we were in 9th grade geography class, learning about foreign capitals or something useless.

I was sitting in the second row, while this girl was in the back row.

It was a particularly high point in the class, by which I mean I was still awake.

It also happened to be quite warm that day.

In my attempts to stay alert, I was casually looking around the classroom, when I just happened to glance back towards the back only to catch this:

The girl had decided that THIS was the opportune time and place to raise her breasts, which were straining against the tablecloth passing for a halter top , with one arm only to WIPE THE SWEAT from underneath them with the other arm.

I was pretty sure I was going to vomit after that.

This experience probably also explains why I don’t consider myself a “Boob Man” to this day.