The girls think he’s their age. Eleven, twelve years old. But he’s only nine. Nine years old and he stands 5′ 2″ and weighs 130 lbs. When the girls find this out, they go, “Yuk. No wonder you’re so immature.”

He likes their attention so, even when they are tryin’ to ignore him, he won’t leave them alone. He calls them names and says, “I’ve one hundred and thirty three girlfriends.”

Both girls laugh and one says, “You don’t have one girlfriend and you will never have a girlfriend.You’re too mean.”

He’s not mean. He’s nine. He’s in over his head w/ these pre-teen charmers but he’s powerless over his attraction. He likes them so much he can’t help but be rude.

“Don’t mind him,” I say to the girls. “He’s just flirtin’.”

“Yuk,” They say in unison.

“I am not,” he says givin’ ‘not’ special emphasis.

Drivin’ home he’s seated in the passenger seat and he tells me one more time, “I did not like those girls.”

“Okay, okay.”

“I didn’t like them. I mean it.”

“Okay. I believe you.”

I didn’t believe him.

I can’t believe we’re not blood.


About joefingas

I am a songwriter, poet, blues singer, and a boogie woogie piano player. I have a grandson but I have no children of my own. All my women have wised up and left me. I was a bum, a wino, a drug/alcohol counselor, a prevention/intervention specialist and a pretender. I have no more time to pretend.
This entry was posted in Blues, Denial, Fiction, Love, Memoir, Parenting, Relationships, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s