Next Tuesday is Valentines Day. Once, when I was in 9th grade, I bought 15 red carnations and sent them to a short-legged brunette with a big juicy peach butt. Along with each carnation, I attached a verse from the Kinks song called “Destroyer”. Here are a few lines to help you remember:
Met a girl called lola and I took her back to my place
Feelin’ guilty, feelin’ scared, hidden cameras everywhere
Stop!
Hold on
Stay in control
At the time, I thought that she would be impressed with my cool taste in music and ingenious presentation. Looking back, I am pretty sure my Kinks wrapped carnations had the opposite effect. Although she did give me a “you are a pitiful” kiss before the school day was over. It was better than nothing, I guess.
A part time friend of mine ended up going out with the afore mentioned hottie for a bit. I ran into them at the movies shortly after the carnation incident. I can’t remember the name of the movie, but I do remember that I was not old enough to attend it legally. I did try though and the ticket taker easily labeled me as a youngster and chided me for even attempting such nonsense. I seem to remember a particularly hostile Roswell cop, eyeballing my awkward teenage frame with contempt and malice. He looked like he would love to crack my skull open with the butt of his revolver or jam his nightstick into my side. My part time friend ( lets call him Bisbee ), however, marched effortlessly into the Roswell Mall theater with his right hand jammed elbow deep into the back jean pocket of my unrequited love. The lucky bastard was palming her butt, or at least part of it. In two days I had been forsaken by my beloved, labeled a child by the establishment and sent into a jealous depression by a sometimes good friend of mine. It sucked to be 15. Little did I know that it sucked to be other ages too.
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