I digress...
I must ask this question now. It is a question from within the deep caves inside of my heart. Really think about this for a second. Now let me ask you...
Do you remember rubbing up against the jets in every pool you went into as a kid?
I do.
Pre-school should not be a place of sexual awakening, of any kind. I did not go to a Catholic pre-school where tantalizing priests lurked in the corridors. That's a different set of reasons to swallow a bottle of Lunesta. No, I am not talking about getting fondled as a child. I had a fondle-free childhood :-). While that is normally a good thing, it proved to be pretty fucking shitty when I had not been fondled by anyone until I was about sixteen years old. Eh, ya win some, ya lose some. No?
That is neither here, nor there. Let's get back to these fucking jets.
I went to pre-school at the YMCA in my hometown from ages 3-4. I was a scrappy, little tyke with an overly-sensitive cry-reflex and could produce tears at the drop of a hat. My hair was essentially a snare for trapping spiders. I always thought that if I had grown up in the wild, the debris that would have gotten caught in my hair would have been my main source of nutrition and the pack of ferrel children that I would run with, would dub me their Goddess of nourishment. To go with my untamed head of hair, with badly cut bangs (Thanks to my mother and a pair of crayola scissors), I also had big, brown bug eyes and had a constant case of jelly fingers. My hands were seldom clean and with the amount of times I had scraped them I still ponder as to why I never got tetnis, regardless of the shot. On top of the scrapes and cuts were the remaining residue of whatever shitty lunch my mom would pack me. Her lunches were pretty fucking awful. While other kids got lunchables and intricate sandwiches, with apple slices, cheddar and crackers, doritos, blueberries, grapes and a pack of gushers or cookies, my lazy mother slabbed cream cheese and jelly onto whole wheat bread (which I loathed at the time), threw in a bruised, miscellaneous, fridge apple and a snack bag of cornflakes. It's like she didn't care. Maybe I would have been better off eating my hair spiders?
I have always been an introvert at heart. Even though I love being social and living out loud and all that crap, even in pre-school, I adored my alone time. Especially during swimming hour. And *Kyle Biggs was the little boy who wondered what I was doing at all times. He would never leave me the fuck alone in the pool.
There was an unspoken bond with the other girls who discovered the wonder of the jets as swell. We would all look at one another, knowing what we were doing as we lined up four feet from one another, clinging to the side of the pool against the 30 mph geysers of serenity. I had no idea at that time that this would be considered sexual. It just felt like the fucking bees knees on crack and all the pre-school bitches knew that if I did not get a jet, I would probably drown the future slut in my pool urine. Those jets were like a G6 on my baby poon.
There were many occasions where I recall a teacher trying to tear me away from my version of the Redlight District in the kiddy pool and I would leave for about 2 minutes but creepily drift back over when I knew they were not paying attention. I clung to that side of the pool with my eyes closed and my mind on the prize. All the little boys wondered what all us little girls were doing on the side of the pool, but Kyle Biggs knew. I told him. I trusted that boy.
The reason Kyle Biggs was following me around on this particular day was because he thought we were in a serious relationship because we showed each other our niblets under the slide the day before. There was no touching, but I had endless questions as to why the shit in between his legs looked like a bunch of retarded eggs. When we played in the Playskool kitchen, he would pretend to be my husband and pat my belly as if I were carrying his first born. When I finally gave birth to our baby boy doll with one eye, he would carry him around by the leg. I knew he was not a suitable father. He was now starting to get on my nerves.
Two weeks passed by and it was almost Easter break. All of us had to wear our Easter attire to school for the last hour of the day for a party. Kyle would not fucking leave me alone. I could not blame him though, my dress was way more appealing than all of the black velvet Laura Ashley puke that was walking around the joint. I could only compare my dress to that of Glinda's from The Wizard of Oz, but in tot form. The bubblegum pink taffeta and tulle billowed down my entire body and was accented by pink, satin ballet flats. Kyle could not keep his hands to himself.
As I nibbled on a pretzel stick that I found in a bean bag chair, I listened in on a conversation that Kyle and another little boy were having about me and my obsession with the pool jets. How dare he blow up my secret. I told him that in confidence. He explained in detail how it felt. Only he described it how I told him. He stole my whole secret.
About five minutes passed and Kyle was tugging on the back of my dress for the fifteenth time within the hour. This was getting out of hand. Not only were your genitals displeasing to mine eye, but you told another about my hot tot discretions and are now pulling on my dress with unrelenting passion. The anger washed over me like snake toxin in a mouse. This kid was going down.
The last vision I had before I knocked him to the ground was watching his eyebrows rise high on his forehead as he nervously smiled himself into the dopiest face that a four year-old could have ever made. It felt good to punch him and although I was suspended from pre-school for three days, I thought I was justified in my actions. Can't take the heat? Get out of my Playskool kitchen.
I find that the boys who fall for me, ever since pre-school, are always the annoying, but lovable perverts of the group. Like really? Yeah, the asshole kid will give me a look or two and then not care that I exist after they find out I have a rotten jelly sandwich my purse.
It's always the little perv that wants to see the rotten jelly sandwich.
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