Diary of a Desperate Need for Salves and Emollients

Check it out! The flowering eroticism of my bare upper-thigh areas is making things shimmer with sexual vibrations so strong you can practically smell 'em!
Well, OK, that's a lie. Actually I was just sittin' on the can a few minutes ago here at work and marveling at how the excess solar radiation pouring out of my legs was making the tag on my fancy new underwear glow. And, uh, I thought maybe I'd, um, share, so I snapped a pic with my phone and right now, right this second as I'm typing this, I'm thinking I probably should've done some more thinking after thinking it was a good idea to put this photo here on the Internet. Things have changed from the old Bad News Hughes days. The Boss gets mad at me for just about anything related to a public display of my crotch. Sheesh! She'd get along great with my square ol' buzzkill of a parole officer, huh?

Anyway, The Boss gets mad at me for all kinds of stuff. Saturday when I got this rad sunburn she got all mad at me because I walked too fast from the parking lot to the edge of the lake, despite me carrying 900 pounds of folding chairs and sun canopies and coolers and backpacks and sandwiches and shit and really having to go pee. After dropping that stuff off I turned around and The Boss was maybe 16 feet behind me, and I hustled over to help her with the light-ass blanket and eeny-weenie bag of yarn and crochet stuff but she yelled at me to get away and hollered for like six minutes that I had bad manners and shouldn't have left her behind and blah blah blah.

"It's not her talking, it's the menses," I whispered to myself. "The menses, the menses. Remember, the menses." I walked by some kid while doing this and he started to cry and ran off. Man, he thinks he's freaked out by the menses now — just wait.

Were were at this damn lake in the first place because Tessa was rowing in some regatta. Her rower gang (or "crew") is pretty cool — relatively speaking, because rowing is a preppy-ass rich-kid hobby from the get-go, Tessa's group is like the gang of plucky misfits from the wrong side of the tracks, going up against the moneyed snobs whose mean banker/university president father wants to foreclose on their ramshackle clubhouse and kick them out of school and so this is like the scrappy underdogs last chance to pull together and show all those poncey lads that nerds can be cool too. At least that's the way I like to think about it. Tessa's view may differ, I dunno. (I never listen when she talks.)

While I'm sitting there turning my legs into a cancer farm and refusing to put on lotion just to spite The Boss I always try to get Tessa and her rower gang to adopt plucky misfit strategies from '80s movies and scuttle enemy boats with crossbows or get a compromising photo of the rival team captain making out with a sheep for blackmail, but they all ignore me. I think next regatta, though, I'm going to strap a shark fin to my head and swim out there and see if I can't bum out some of the enemy rich kids or something, because parents need to be involved in kids' lives. You know?


glen said...

Those are some classy Calvin Klein underpants you got there. I would have guessed you were a Hanes man. Or maybe Fruit of the Loom...

cIII said...

Don't forget the Music Montage, Hughes. Every scrappy "come from Behind" gang of misfits needs a music Montage.

Gutshot said...

I theen you _do_ listen when Tessa talks. Who was it who said, "Manners make the man"?! Wasn't that you?

Evil Twin's Wife said...

Could you drop the Evil Twin a line and tell him to just chalk it up to the menses? We've been together 17 years and I still think he has trouble understanding that concept. ;-)

mamadaisy said...

you just like saying the word 'regatta.'


Anonymous said...

You forgot about the part where the preppy rich kid falls in love with Tessa and dumps his snobby girlfriend.

Although it would be way better if it was Giuseppe he falls in love with.

You are doing a good job in your part as the absurd parent to the scrappy little gal from the wrong side of the tracks--kudos!

dean said...

It's gonna be tough going into that stall again after seeing this picture. Thanks for that Patrick. As if the office weren't stall-challenged enough as it is.

Salty Miss Jill said...

You are a wonderful role model.
And sunblock is for pussies.

Mr. Austin said...

The only problem with your suggestions is that John Cusack is now old enough to play a dad, which makes him you, which probably makes you want to slap your irradiated thighs.

DyShaun said...

Why was I surprised that the tile in there looks exactly like ours?!?!!

I guess the nasty-grams about office furniture hold the same in the restrooms LOL

Ben said...

So this is what happens when Patrick Hughes is pooin'.


Anonymous said...

You post too rarely.

Post more.

Ignatz Rabinowitz said...

I don't know. I'd hoped you'd gotten it all out of your system with the gay teenaged boy in a dress, but now you've gone and outdone yourself. I should be outraged, but it's so hard to quit you...

Anonymous said...

whuts the whyte stufs on yer knee?

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