BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

Literally.

Why would I lie about something like that?

… And yes, I do realize that right now you are all sitting there chanting, “Murv’s gonna get it… Murv’s gonna get it…”

Normally, I would agree with you, but go back to the beginning and read again what I wrote… I’m fairly certain I typed in the word, literally. As in, E K is a literal pain in my ass. Not figurative. Not metaphorical. Nope. None of that dancing about and implied torture. No husbandly lamenting about a wife’s wifeliness. We are talking about the real deal here…

I mean to say, the woman literally caused pain and physical damage to my Gluteus Maximus.

Uh-huh… I know… Now all of you are sitting there saying, “So what? You’re talking about E K. Since you say she’s so evil then she probably just tied you up and spanked you or something like that. Big deal. Just roll with it you big baby.” (On that note – The cartoon on the right is just for you “perverted types,” BTW… )

Well, though it is apparently titillating for all of you to imagine such a scenario, otherwise you probably wouldn’t be imagining it… Hey…. Hey! Yeah, you. Stop staring at the cartoon and pay attention.

Okay… so where was I? Oh yeah… As I was saying, such graphic details might be a little too much info for a relatively PG rated blog like Brainpan Leakage… And, for the record, I am now firmly convinced that y’all have dirtier minds than I do… Especially you… Yeah, you in the back row. The one that keeps staring and drooling at the cartoon… It’s a friggin’  PG rated cartoon for Gods sake… Sheesh… For shame… For shame…

So, anyway, let’s set the record straight right here and now… E K did not spank me. Well… Not in this particular case anyway. (There, did that little bit of innuendo satisfy your prurient curiosity, or just pique it? Yeah… I thought as much, ya’ bunch of sickos… When you’re all done drooling over the silly cartoon, we can continue…)

(Jeopardy thinking music)

Okay, are we all done? Finally… Good…

So now that we’ve dispensed with the mental foreplay, we’ll move on already…

We’ve established that no spankings were had. The simple fact is that this is an entirely different kind of literal pain in the ass. And, it is also one that reaches far back into history. So, since the whole nostalgia approach of the “marriage blog” mini-series seemed to go over so well, I figured y’all might like to hear this story too. So, let’s all jump into the wayback machine and have a look at this particular, and annoyingly painful, slice of my past… (Yeah, you too… Yeah you… I don’t care… You can page back up and look at the cartoon again when we’ve finished the story… Sheesh… You don’t get out much, do you?)

Okay… On with the sordid tale…

The year was nineteen and eighty six…  E K and I had met by this point, and were more or less in the midst of doing that coy, flirty thing that accompanies the first three months of dating. You know what I mean…

For men it’s crap like: Getting a haircut. Making sure your shirt isn’t wrinkled. Actually tying your necktie in a Full Windsor instead of a Half, but only after making doubly sure it actually matches your shirt and slacks. Using aftershave and maybe even a bit of cologne… Holding your farts in until you are in the next county and downwind so that the object of your affection will never know…

For women it’s crap like: Shaving your legs regularly. Wearing a shorter skirt and higher heels than you normally would on your average workday.  A push up bra. Fancy jewelry… Holding your farts in until you are in the next county and downwind so that the object of your affection will never know…

Y’all know the drill… Typical, flirty – datey stuff.

On the particular day in question, E K arrived at our place of employment, all decked out in a nice blouse, blazer, shape hugging slacks, and the high heels that were a bit too high for your average work day… The pumps were a dead giveaway that she was being flirty, because:

1. She had service calls to take and was going to be on her feet, digging around behind printers, kneeling, bending over, and all of the other gyrations that come along with taking a service call. (For the record, it’s actually pretty good exercise.)
2. She had VERY RECENTLY uncovered my particular affinity for shapely female legs and high heels. (It bears mentioning that being the absolutely brilliant femme fatale she is, The Evil Redhead has used this information to her benefit on countless occasions, ever since making the discovery.)

The only thing missing from the overall package was the shorter than normal skirt, but see #1. She had to compromise somewhere along the line, and like I said, the slacks were definitely figure flattering…

Okay… I need some alone time now…

Just kidding. Well, not really, but I have too much to do and I need to finish this story…

In keeping with the flirty stuff, E K had some tasteful jewelry on to accentuate here and there. Of course, being incredibly practical as well, one of the jewelry items was a fancy little diskette lapel pin. I mean, after all, she’s a technician, so she needed to have herself some technician jewelry, right? And, yes, the picture here is of the actual pin in question. As amazing as it may seem, she still has it after all these years. Granted, it may look a bit odd to you youngsters who have never seen a 5 1/4 inch floppy diskette in real life, but that is exactly what it was patterned after. BTW, Sorcim / IUS was a software company. They were the “publisher” of a widely used, DOS Based program called SuperCalc. If I remember correctly, the lapel pin itself was a gimme type perk she received for attending a Sorcim seminar.

So, anyway, enough rambling on about ancient technology being transformed into jewelry. Let’s get back to this particular day in history…

E Kay’s truck… Yes, my dear and lovely used to drive a truck…  Anyway, her truck was going to be in the shop for some routine maintenance, which effectively left her without wheels, but she still needed to take service calls. Unfortunately, the outfit we were working for at the time, TC Service, didn’t have company vehicles for us to use. So, in order that my lovely be able to take her scheduled service calls, I loaned her my car. As it happened, said vehicle was the Mustang LX I was desperately trying to pay off… Yeah, that’s one of those, “another stories,” but if you read the “Mahwage” series of entries, you know what I mean.

So, after a bit of flirting and lustful stirrings brought about by E K in high heels purposely reaching for things behind her desk while standing in front of it, if you know what I’m saying, I sent her on the road with parts, tools, and my car. After that, the day continued in a relatively uneventful fashion. I configured a few Leading Edge PC’s, fixed a printer or two, answered some tech support calls… The usual crap… The Evil One completed her service calls and returned, both she and my car completely unscathed. Life was good.

As it happened, that evening was filled with “other obligations,” so E K and I were not going to be able to spend it together. Not exactly the best situation, given the fact that she had purposely lit my fuse, so to speak, but hey, stuff happens. Of course, we did the flirty-flirty thing through the afternoon, and retrieved her truck from the shop, then when quitting time rolled around, stole a few kisses before going our separate directions for the evening.

I hopped into my car, and at a point somewhere around halfway home, I felt a very sudden, very sharp, very intense pain in my right butt cheek. If I remember correctly, I even let out a yelp.  It was reminiscent of being nailed by a bee. Since it happened to be late summer, I assumed this was a real possibility.  Something else I considered was a cherry from a cigarette. At the time I was a smoker, so I had to wonder if I had inadvertently knocked the fire from the end of a smoke while shifting gears or some such.

Well, of course, I reached down and felt about in the seat while hiking myself up onto my left hip and dancing around in a circle, all while trying to keep the car in between the dashed lines dividing the lanes on I-170. However, no matter how much feeling about in the seat, or on my own ass I did, I found nothing.

Still, the pain continued.

Well… I have to admit, I have a fairly high pain tolerance. I’m not at all sure from whence it originates, but I can actually take a lot of abuse… Just ask E K… But, let’s not go there again… Seriously, though, I really do have a fairly high tolerance for pain, so since I couldn’t find the source I decided my best bet was to just ignore it. Besides, at this point, the initial shock of the pain was fading and it had settled down to a dull ache. The ache was making its way into the background as well, so I figured I’d be all good. Eventually, it would just go away.

And it did. For the most part, anyway. I mean, there remained a minor ache and soreness throughout the rest of the evening, but nothing anywhere near as intense as the initial stab of pain.

Life rocked on, I met my various obligations, and even had a quick chat or two with E K on the phone, just because I couldn’t stand to be away from her for more than an hour at a stretch unless I was unconscious. The evening grew late and eventually it was time to hit the sack. Following my regular routine, I emptied my pockets, then started getting undressed so I could go to bed. About the time I undid my pants and went to pull them off, I discovered that they seemed to be hung up somewhere around the right side of my ass. As in, they wouldn’t come off. At about the exact instant I started to tug on them a bit, the pain that had earlier ravaged my butt cheek exploded forth once more.

Now I was hopping about on one leg, cussing, and about to trip over my half-removed britches. Fearing that I was going to perform a flawless face plant on the floor, I twisted around and perched myself on the corner of my waterbed side rails, and rolled up onto my left hip. Reaching back and feeling around, through the fabric of the pants, my fingers now came into contact with a small lump on my rear, right about where my wallet had been residing earlier. Perplexed, I slipped my hand into my hip pocket and felt around some more. Within seconds I had hold of the offending object and pulled, much like the whole mouse yanking the thorn out of the lion’s paw scenario. Except, it was just me doing the yanking, and the paw in this case was my ass.

When I brought my hand up into the light, besides a bit of blood, I also found a gold, diskette shaped, lapel pin pinched between my fingers.

The next morning, when E K strolled into work, I waited for her to park herself at her desk, which was nearby and facing mine. After exchanging some flirty good mornings, I raised an eyebrow and asked, “So, were you trying to make sure I didn’t forget you last night?”

She furrowed her brow and cocked her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

I pushed back from my desk, stood, took the few steps in her direction, and then dropped the lapel pin on the desk blotter in front of her.

“Oh, I was wondering where I lost that!” she exclaimed. “Where did you find it?”

I shook my head. “You probably don’t want to know.”

I did eventually tell her, of course. A few minutes later, in fact. However, looking back on it now, that was probably a mistake in and of itself. You see,  it was at that point in our relationship that she became aware of my higher than normal tolerance for pain, and she has been trying to find my breaking point ever since…

But seriously… All joking and silliness aside, I think you can now see why I can truthfully say that, “E K is a real pain in my ass…”

More to come…

Murv

Part 10 of 12

Continued from: Mahwage: Fool For Your Stockings…

Grabby little minx, isn’t she? I mean would you look at that? She’s only had the collar around my neck and the ring around my… Uhm…  Uh… Finger, yeah, finger… That’s what I was going to say… So, anyway, yeah…  Ahem… Well… Back to what I was supposed to be saying, I guess…

The marriage had only been official for about two hours when the above picture was taken, and my bride was already just grabbing things right out of my hands like Kwai Chang Caine snatching pebbles from a blind Shaolin monk. (If you can believe the old TV show that task is much harder than it sounds…)

Okay, I have to be honest… I have absolutely no clue what E K is so intent on taking away from me in this photo. Well, that statement isn’t entirely accurate, because I do have at least a faint clue, but I cannot in any way be absolutely positive what it is in this particular picture. The only thing I can assure you is that it’s not candy. She only takes that away from babies. Just kidding… Man, y’all are way too serious… loosen up… please…

Let’s put it this way, since people were well aware of our  financial situation – not much cash in the bank, just bought a house,  financed our own wedding, very little furniture, yadda yadda – rather than give us relatively useless crap like Terra Cotta Taco Racks or some such as wedding presents, many of them simply gave us cash. So, I suspect money is most likely what my bride is reaching for… I probably had a couple of twenties in my hand that I had just pulled out of a card or something of that ilk. But,  you know, I can’t really blame her… I mean, after all, she knew  all too well my history with getting myself into debt, so letting me have any manner of control over the cash was cause for immediate alarm. And besides, she’s a Taurus. She absolutely loves money…

Wait… You know what? Something just dawned on me… I think maybe we did get a Terra Cotta Taco Rack… Oh hell, there it is! Right there in the middle of the picture… that yellowish box with the bow on the corner… And, it even looked exactly like the one in this other picture here on the left… (Yeah, I actually had to go out and steal the picture off the web since we no longer have our Taco Rack, therefore the closeup is not of the actual gift, although it is exactly the same kind we received.)

Yep… It’s true, we did in fact receive a Terra Cotta Taco Rack, and it came from some dear friends, Dave and Deb. The verbal caveat they added when we unwrapped the box was that it was more or less a moral imperative that a newly married couple receive at least 1 somewhat useless gift as a wedding present. Well, D and D, we actually did get some use out of it – as well as plenty of amusement given your “explanation”, so here’s another “thank you” all these years later…

But, I suppose I should be staying on topic, correct? Well, you know me better than that by now… I’m afflicted with Blog A D D, and I just can’t help it…

Unless I missed my guess, it most likely hasn’t escaped your notice that our wedding was held on Halloween. I mean after all, not only have I repeatedly tossed the date out there, I even pointed out that it was on Halloween… And, I’ve been going on and on about how it was held in our living room… In our new house…on a residential street… Need I continue scattering breadcrumbs?

I seriously doubt I do, because y’all were already on top of this one. E K and I, however… well… not so much.

Now, in our defense we were twenty-somethings without kids. The duplex where we lived prior to buying this house was on an extremely busy thoroughfare and there weren’t really a lot of kids around… On top of that, let’s go back to the twenty-somethings thing… What do folks in their early twenties do on Halloween? Stay home and give out candy? Well, unless they have kids of their own, probably not. More than likely they are misspending their young adult youth at a party in not-fit-for-all- ages costumes, with dip, party food, and ungodly amounts of alcohol. Know what I mean?

Yeah… We completely and totally forgot about the fact that kids could possibly come to the door and scream at us until we produced candy… candy that we had neglected to purchase for the occasion.

I’m sure you see where I am going with this…

About 5 minutes into the ceremony a handful of tiny voices bellowed outside the front door, “Twik o Tweep!”.

Everything came to a screeching halt as we all looked around in sudden realization. My father looked at me and said, “Where’s the candy?”

To which I replied, “We forgot.”

“You forgot?”

“Yeah, dad… We’ve been a bit preoccupied.”

Saving the day, my father stepped over to the door, swung it open, then dug into his pocket and started handing out change to the kids. I believe we only had one other interruption during the ceremony itself, but by the time the reception was rolling, kids were knocking on the door left and right…

Eventually, my dad ran out of change and so did I. We ended up offering wedding cake, ham, and veal parmigiana to the costumed beggars after that – only with their parent’s permission, of course… As I recall, we had 1 taker for a piece of cake. However, I think what I ended up finding to be the most amusing out of all of this were the numerous compliments we received. Not because we looked damn sharp, which we did… Especially E K… (Hey, I’ve been good for almost an entire blog entry now)… No, it wasn’t just our costumes… it seems we were garnering compliments on our Halloween decorations and spirit for the occasion. Apparently, several of the folks who were escorting their kids around the neighborhood thought that we were simply in costume as Bride and Groom, and that the whole reception itself was an elaborate, wedding-themed Halloween Party, complete with food and cake. Some who had been by the house earlier actually thought the wedding ceremony itself was a mocked up act to lend credibility to the facade.

Since we are on the subject of “wedding cake”, I would be remiss if I didn’t include the picture on the right. Especially since E K went to the trouble of digging out what passes for our wedding album  for me  in order that I be able to scan a few of the photos for this series of blog entries. (Remember, I said we couldn’t afford to hire a pro)…  So, what you have here is obviously a picture of us next to the wedding cake my father insisted we have… (And we definitely appreciated that more than we could ever convey).

But, unfortunately, there is an evil and insidious story behind this particular snapshot… Notice how we are both reaching? Well, you see, E Kay had been hitting the champagne pretty hard. She was starting to get a little rambunctious, and no one could seem to calm her down. A suggestion was made that we cut the cake in hopes this would bring her under control, but alas, it just fueled the fire. In this piece of historical still life, what you are witnessing is E K as she is just about to pluck the tiny little groom off the top  of the cake so that she can throw it on the floor and stomp on it. I, as you can see, am rushing to save him.

Really. She did. Danced all over his little body in her high heels. Crushed the poor bastard into a gazillion pieces… Laughing maniacally with a bizarre gleam in her eyes, and mumbling with each step, “Take that… How does that feel?  … How about this? … And this?”

Yeah, really… She did…

Seriously…

You don’t believe me?

Okay, so she didn’t. Y’all are just no fun today at all are you? Oh, and since we are apparently operating under a full disclosure policy here,  I suppose I should point out that she hadn’t really been hitting the champagne either. Yes, we had some, but not even enough to tickle our noses in the grand scheme of things… Besides which, E K isn’t a very big fan of the bubbly.

So, in reality, if memory serves, our grabby, reaching gestures in this particular photo have something to do with us trying to figure out how to go about disassembling the cake and store the top layer away in the freezer for our first anniversary, as is called for by time honored tradition.

I have a comment about said tradition: … For the record, year old freezer burned wedding cake tastes like crap…

More to come…

Murv

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