The Songs of Johnny Go

Some A whole lotta navel-gazing ahead, be warned.



So some ladyfriends of mine (married ladyfriends, mind) have actually asked, "John, how is it you don't have a girlfriend?"

The only thing that seemed odder than the question itself was the fact that I had no answer. I just stopped thinking about it years ago and just resigned myself to the general fact that I was single, and while I wouldn't be single forever, I am single now. If that makes any sense.

I've never had a normal, average relationship; my healthiest and most normal to date was long-distance, for goodness sake. The rest were... gray areas, shall we say. So why is that, I now had to ask myself? Why am I still single? And indeed, why is my actual social life so very small?

( And the simplest answer that came to me was an old one... )

So I recently realized what may have gone wrong with my attempts to court the cute hippie chick. Having her over to my house wasn't the biggest mistake, nor was my decision to show her THE NINTH CONFIGURATION. And I know many of you are rolling your eyes at that one, but no, it wasn't as stupid a choice as it might seem. I chose it for a very good reason that pertained to her interests! I just don't remember exactly why. But that's all besides the point.

No, I think the main flub of the evening came when we were on my bed, watching the movie and getting close, and I noticed she had a tear in her jeans. This particular tear was way, wayyyy up at the very top of her legs, an inch or so higher than Daisy Dukes would be, had they been cut off all the way. You know, a tear that revealed a nice window to her butt.

So in an attempt to be witty and flirty, I pointed to the tear, smiled, and remarked:

"I like your butt hole."

...

It was weeks before I realized what I said.

Clearly, I need to work that into a story. I just don't know where.