A first-grade teacher, Ms Brooks, was having trouble with one of her students. The teacher asked, 'Harry, what's your problem?'
Harry answered, 'I'm too smart for the 1st grade. My sister is in the 3rd grade and I'm smarter than she is! I think I should be in the 3rd grade too!'
Ms. Brooks had had enough. She took Harry to the principal's office.
While Harry waited in the outer office, the teacher explained to the principal what the situation was. The principal told Ms. Brooks he would give the boy a test. If he failed to answer any of his questions he was to go back to the 1st grade and behave. She agreed.
Harry was brought in and the conditions were explained to him and he agreed to take the test.
Principal:
'What is 3 x 3?'
Harry:
'9.'
Principal:
'What is 6 x 6?'
Harry:
'36.'
And so it went with every question the principal thought a 3rd grader should know.
The principal looks at Ms. Brooks and tells her, 'I think Harry can go to the 3rd grade'
Ms. Brooks says to the principal, 'Let me ask him some questions..'
The principal and Harry both agreed.
Ms. Brooks asks, 'What does a cow have four of that I have only two of?'
Harry, after a moment: 'Legs.'
Ms. Brooks: 'What is in your pants that you have but I do not have?'
The principal wondered why would she ask such a question!
Harry replied: 'Pockets.'
Ms. Brooks: 'What does a dog do that a man steps into?'
Harry: 'Pants.'
The principal sat forward with his mouth hanging open.
Ms. Brooks: 'What goes in hard and pink then comes out soft and sticky?'
The principal's eyes opened really wide and before he could stop the answer, Harry replied, 'Bubble gum.'
Ms. Brooks: 'What does a man do standing up, a woman does sitting down and a dog does on three legs?'
Harry: 'Shake hands .'
The principal was trembling.
Ms. Brooks: 'What word starts with an 'F' and ends in 'K' that means a lot of heat and excitement?'
Harry:
'Firetruck.'
The principal breathed a sigh of relief and told the
teacher, 'Put Harry in the fifth-grade, I got the last seven questions wrong.
Dear Connie,
I know the counselor said we shouldn’t contact each other during our “cooling off” period, but I couldn’t wait anymore. The day you left, I swore I’d never talk to you again. But that was just the wounded little boy in me talking. Still, I never wanted to be the first one to make contact. In my fantasies, it was always you who would come crawling back to me. I guess my pride needed that. But now I see that my pride’s cost me a lot of things. I’m tired of pretending I don’t miss you. I don’t care about looking bad anymore. I don’t care who makes the first move as long as one of us does.
Maybe it’s time we let our hearts speak as loudly as our hurt. And this is what my heart says: “There’s no one like you, Connie.” I look for you in the eyes and breasts of every woman I see, but they’re not you. They’re not even close. Two weeks ago, I met this girl at Flamingos and brought her home with me. I don’t say this to hurt you, but just to illustrate the depth of my desperation.
She was young, maybe 19, with one of those perfect bodies that only youth and maybe a childhood spent ice skating can give you. Every man’s dream, right? But as I sat on the couch being blown by this stunner, I thought, look at the stuff we’ve made important in our lives. It’s all so superficial.
What does a perfect body mean? Does it make her better in bed? Well, in this case, yes, but you see what I’m getting at. Does it make her a better person? Does she have a better heart than my moderately attractive Connie? I doubt it. And I’d never really thought of that before.
I don’t know, maybe I’m just growing up a little. Later, after I’d tossed her about a half a pint of throat yogurt, I found myself thinking, “Why do I feel so drained and empty?” It wasn’t just her flawless technique or her slutty, shameless hunger, but something else. Some nagging feeling of loss. Why did it feel so incomplete? And then it hit me. It didn’t feel the same because you weren’t there to watch. Do you know what I mean? Nothing feels the same without you. Jesus, Connie, I’m just going crazy without you. And everything I do just reminds me of you.
Do you remember Carol, that single mom we met at the Holiday Inn lounge last year? Well, she dropped by last week with a pan of lasagna. She said she figured I wasn’t eating right without a woman around. I didn’t know what she meant till later, but that’s not the real story.
Anyway, we had a few glasses of wine and the next thing you know, we’re banging away in our old bedroom. And this tart’s a total monster in the sack. She’s giving me everything, you know, like a real woman does when she’s not hung up about her weight or her career and whether the kids can hear us. And all of a sudden, she spots that tilting mirror on your grandmother’s old vanity. So she puts it on the floor and we straddle it, right, so we can watch ourselves. And it’s totally hot, but it makes me sad, too. Cause I can’t help thinking, “Why didn’t Connie ever put the mirror on the floor? We’ve had this old vanity for what, 14 years, and we never used it as a sex toy.”
Saturday, your sister drops by with my copy of the restraining order. I mean, Vicky’s just a kid and all, but she’s got a pretty good head on her shoulders and she’s been a real friend to me during this painful time. She’s given me lots of good advice about you and about women in general. She’s pulling for us to get back together, Connie, she really is. So we’re doing Jell-O shots in a hot bubble bath and talking about happier times. Here’s this teenage girl with the same DNA as you and all I can do is think of how much she looked like you when you were 18. And that just about makes me cry.
And then it turns out Vicky’s really into the whole anal thing, that gets me to thinking about how many times I pressured you about trying it and how that probably fueled some of the bitterness between us. But do you see how even then, when I’m thrusting inside your baby sister’s cinnamon ring, all I can do is think of you? It’s true, Connie. In your heart you must know it.
Don’t you think we could start over? Just wipe out all the grievances away and start fresh? I think we can.
If you feel the same please, please, please let me know. Otherwise, can you let me know where the *&^@%%#% remote is.