This actually started as a side thought while I was working on the “Allergic to Cute” Smirk I did yesterday. With the Allergic to Cute post now over a day old, I can confidently say that it is a documented fact that cute fuzzy things evoke in us an impulse to uncontrollably squeeze them. And by documented fact, I mean it’s a fact that I have documented this human condition. Now take away all the fur, and add rolls of chubbiness and keep the adorability level at high and what happens with this impulse? Babies are associated with this allergic to cute concept, but the reaction is a little different. The desire to squeeze subsides, but the uncontrollable desire to eat them comes to the surface in full force.
On Sunday my ten month old nephew was with his mom over for dinner. After dinner concluded, I found myself holding the kid while his mom was getting his bottle ready. I noticed that while I was sitting there holding on to his roly poly little arms, I had a sudden urge to bite him. Not in a “Braiiiins!” way, but more of a “I just wanna eat you!” jovial way. I even went so far as to take one of his pudgy hands and put it in my mouth just so I could feel the baby skin next to my teeth. It was oddly soothing and satisfying and removed as desire to what to make a snack out of him.
I know I’m not alone in this too. I see people doing this all the time with cubby babies. I would dare say it is a worldwide practice. People are always putting baby feet or hands into their mouths and lightly gnawing on them. Some even make a game out of pretending to eat up the baby whole, complete with “chomp, chomp, chomp” noises they make while miming the actions. I makes me wonder if blowing on a baby’s tummy is really a game to get the little thing to giggle, or is it actually an attempt to vibrationally tenderize the baby, which I think would only add to its adorability and yumminess levels. There is also the arm biting where people will grab the baby’s arm and start lightly gnawing on it like it were corn on the cob.
I’m not saying we should begin baby consumption, although we do take part in this already at certain levels… namely eggs, oh and caviar, which I guess is still eggs. There is also the veal eaters, which most people agree belong right above “that couple that bring their baby to a 9 PM showing of a rated R movie and refuses to take them out of the theater when it wakes up and starts to cry” people on the All-Time Most Despised People list. Yes veal eaters are worse than the crying baby at movie people.
On a literary level, the one thing that this realization has done for me is allow me to connect with the witch in Hansel and Gretel a little more. I have no plans on changing my views on the outcome of the story. I just I understand her motivations a bit more. Did she deserve to be cooked alive in her own stove? Yes. That is what I like to call the golden rule of karma. Now had the kids eaten the witch after she was cooked, then we would have had ironic karma, which is just as good as regular karma only with an additional “ha ha” mixed in with the story telling portion of it.
I guess if I was to leave you with one thing it would have to be… “NO! Don’t eat babies!” There, that should do it. Seriously though, lightly gnawing on babies is fine, but really, that’s it.
Come on, you know you crave gnawing on babies too. Fess up.
Google Images, key words: chubby baby, mom biting baby, and Hansel and Gretel.
Have you ever be holding an animal of overwhelming adorability, like a puppy, or bunny, or kitty, or some other little fluffy animal ending with y? Then, as you are holding this ball of cuteness you are hit with this sudden urge, almost as if it were a sugar rush. It comes out of nowhere and the next thing you know you are filled with this intense urge to uncontrollably squeeze this implement (animal) of cuteness. It begins in your jaw, and as the feeling builds up, your jaw starts to clinch shut, tighter and tighter, until the teeth in the back of your mouth begin to ache a little.
Then the urge to squeeze kicks in, but the second it does so does a sort of mussel lock causing your whole body to flex, stopped any over squeezing to occur. While in this moment of impasse you mind is usually filled with the saying, “So are sooo cute! I can’t even stand it!” Sometimes this phrase is actually said to the animal, and other times it stays internal. This seizing moment is kind of like a conflict between instinct and your mental control over instinct. Your instinct is to uncontrollable squeeze this creature of such cuteness magnitude with no inhibitions, but you mind keeps you from doing that so you can continue to bask in a kind of cuteness euphoria.
It’s not just adults, although I think we have better mental control than kids. When kids get a hold of some type of creature of fuzzy cuteness, they will squeeze with no intent to stop, which is usually how they get bit, scratched, kicked, etc. This is why stuffed animals are such a hit for the little people of the world. With stuffed animals kids can release their cuteness overload and squeeze the stuffed animal with worry about harming anything alive in the process.
The reassuring thing is that I know I am not alone in this. I have seen kids and adults both go into these fits of over stimulated cuteness, and I’m grateful for that. It is still a little confusing though. I mean, where does this cuteness overload come from? Is it part of an anti-cuteness gene that science has not yet deciphered? Resulting in, when our cuteness sensors are over stimulated, an uncontrollable urge expel said object of cuteness so that we don’t overload to the point of self expulsion. Perhaps this is where the phrase, “So cute I could die,” comes from.
Because I see this as a bigger issue than it really is, I have given some though to ways that can help suppress this urge to uncontrollably squeeze a creature of cuteness. Here is what I have come up with so far.
When the overload feeling begins to build, imagine the animal you are holding as naked… well saved, shaven… without any hair. I think the fur is a direct component in the cuteness overload. When you think of a puppy with no hair you might still think it’s sort of cute or cute-ish, but you will attach more sorrow to the creature instead of cuteness. The result can lower the overload and cause you to feel sorry for the poor little thing instead. It can also cause you to expel such sounds as, “ohhhh” while softly laughing, because even though it’s not funny, it’s still a little funny.
Put the creature on the ground and play with it in a way that gives you physical distance from it. If it’s a kitten, have a piece of string you can taunt it with. If it’s a puppy get a tug-a-war rope, or ball, or laser pointer. It seems that direct physical contact with the cute culprit is responsible for the overload buildup. If you are not holding, petting, feeding by hand, etc. you will not experience this buildup.
Practice future visualization exercises. Imagine that the animal is now older and willing to pass gas while lying beside or behind the sofa while friends are visiting. It expels an odor so pungent that everyone leaves the room. This self projected future embarrassment should also help to alleviate the cuteness overload buildup.
And that’s all I have at this point. Just remember that it is a common human condition to be suddenly stricken with the urge to uncontrollably squeeze small fluffy animals registering in ultra high levels of adorability. It is also common for your body to experience a quick sudden seize up to keep you from over squeezing these animals. Do not feel bad about this, or think there is anything wrong with you. You are not alone and you are perfectly human. It’s just that I think at some deep genetic level we are all allergic to cute.
If you have any additional cuteness overload deterrents, please share. I for one would love to hear them.
Google Images, key words: puppy, kid with stuffed animal, shaved puppy, and kitten with string.
When working as an Assistant Pastry Chef as a resort in Jackson Wyoming, I worked with a curious man named Doug. We only worked together a few months, but Doug turned out to be one of those characters in life that I will always remember. He was the Pastry Chef that I worked under and was a little, well, let me put it like this, Doug was the closest thing to a reincarnation of Gene Wilder’s performance of Willy Wonka than anyone I have ever, or imagine will ever meet.
Doug was an average height, with naturally ratty-frizzy hair, or it just came across that way because he never did his hair. He also had round wire-rim glasses that framed his thin-blue eyes. Because we worked in the kitchen, we were required to wear a uniform that the resort was kind enough to supply. It consisted of a floppy top chef’s hat, with a white chef’s smock, and black and white checkered pants. Doug took full advantage of this and had not purchased a new pair of pants in over three years. He always wore his chef pants, when working or just going out with friends. Any time they began to wear too thin, he’d just pick up a new pair or two and take them home. The only exception I can think of is when we would go to disco night and he would get dressed up in his favorite secondhand 70s disco garb to go out dancing.
One of the main things I remember about Doug is that he was always offering up little lessons about life. Lesson’s that you would think were common sense, but turned out to be the type of things that apparently he needed to learn firsthand. He was usually so profoundly surprised by these lessons that he would always approach the telling of these lessons with much heartfelt earnest. Feeling that if he could save just one person from making the same mistake he had then life would have been worth living.
Some lessons were very career oriented. For instance things like how to rummage for pots and pans as loudly as possible while cursing profusely. The trick about using baker’s profanity is that it couldn’t sound much like profanity. He introduced me to the use of glottal stops mixed with open larynx yells that could carry vowels and consonants blended together in what sounded a bit like a sick badger getting poked with a spoon. But as long as you started the profanity out with the correct letter sound and clearly pronounced the ending letter, it was considered properly executed baker’s cursing. Apparently, according to Doug, baking is 70% cursing, 20% following the recipe, and 10% remembering to set the timer. In a kitchen, bakers are considered the crazy ones and Doug was very determined not to let me fail that stereotype.
The one lesson that I inevitability share with everyone is his warning about dating psychology majors… but more than that, it was mostly a lesson her learned while dating one. We were working on some fruit tortes, getting them ready for an upcoming Sunday brunch and out of nowhere Doug started with, “Rich, don’t ever… I mean ever, talk about your girlfriend’s mom when you’re making out… with her not her mom I mean.” He didn’t even pause what he was doing.
The statement, however, stopped me in my tracks. The torte was going to have to wait a little while. “I imagine it’s a little difficult to say anything like that when making out,” I replied, “regardless who you are making out with.”
“Well, let’s say in the between moments of making out.”
“What do you mean exactly?”
So Doug started telling me about when he was in college, and a psychology major he had been dating for about two months. Things had taken a few steps towards being a bit more serious than just the occasional booty call. It had even gone so far that he was invited to dinner with her parents when they had been visiting. They were definitely tipping the scales of entering into a relationship.
“One night when I was over at her place we started getting into it a little while on her couch, which was always the foreplay area of her apartment. Well, I had managed to get out of my shirt and all of a sudden, in mid kiss, she stops, pulls back and with a sultry smile asks me if she could ask a question. I told her she already had, but she stopped me and said she was serious.”
He told me that she then explained that she had been learning about the differences between the male and female psyche and learned in one of her books that it was common for men to fantasize about other women during sex.
“Ohhh, this is going to a bad place.” I said to Doug.
“I know! It caught me completely off guard, but there was the prospect that we’d be having sex at the end to I let her keep talking.”
“How could you think that things would end that way?”
“Every night that we spent kissing on her couch had always ended with sex. I didn’t have any reason to believe that that night would end any differently.” He sighed, and continued explaining that she had asked him who he had thought about while they were having sex.
“Is that even true? I mean… she WHAT?”
“Yeah all matter-of-factly, saying the book said it was common for men, like puberty, or breathing, or only cooking cheese stuffed croissants for 30 minutes in a convection oven at 375 or you’ll burn them. Still I went with my initial gut instinct and told her that I only thought about her.”
“It didn’t work, no matter how many times I told her. I said over and over again, ‘No baby, I only think about you.’ but she kept telling me she knew differently. Her book had a whole chapter about the very topic. After about twenty minutes of going back and forth she started to get a little annoyed that I wouldn’t tell her. All the while adding that she knew it was what men did and she just wanted to know who I had thought about. She told me it was fine and she was not going to get mad. She ended every sentence with that. Always reminding me that she was not going to get mad.”
“Did she get mad?”
“I began to lose my determination for telling her over and over again, ‘Only you. I only think about you.’ I started to think that maybe if I gave her an answer everything would relax and we could get back down to business. So I started thinking about who I might, or even could, think about while having sex with her. A name did eventually come to me, but I wasn’t sure.”
“Well, ok so I asked her if she’d promise not to get mad. And she reminded me that the whole thing was her idea, reminding yet again that she would not get mad. I asked again just to make sure, ‘Now honey you really promise you won’t get made if I tell you.’ and in the most annoyed her voice had sounded all night told me that she had already said that and to just tell her. So I said, ‘Well, not that it ever happens, but maybe if I had to pick someone that I possibly might, but it never would, but if it did… and remember you promised not to get mad, but well, I maybe, sort of, could have, if I had to, maybe… but I’d never, but maybe I could… well sort of, um, well, you know, maybe your mom.”
My mouth dropped open, but nothing would come out.
“I’ve never had an evening end so abruptly in my entire life,” he added in a tone of pure flabbergasted surprise. “She was really mad!”
I just started laughing. Doug began smiling, but it was the little kid smile where they tell you something in complete seriousness, but it strikes everyone listening as so funny that everyone begins to laugh and the little kid begins smiling in an effort to fit in, but are a little confused about what was so funny. Then I told Doug, “I promise I will never tell any woman, ever, anywhere, ever, that I fanaticize about their… you realize that this is another one of those things you need to put on your list of things to talk to a shrink about should you ever get one.”
“Yeah maybe, but I figure it’s an important enough lesson that I should share it with others first.”
“Thanks Doug,” I chuckled. “Lesson learned.” And soon we were back to work.
Even though I’ve completely lost contact with Doug, he is one of those characters in my life that I’ll never forget. It’s been over fifteen years now since he shared that story with me, and that’s how long I’ve been sharing it with others. It’s worth the telling and has a moral that I feel will never grow old, because as long as there is someone out there that it willing to ask that kind of question, there is going to be someone like Doug that is going to be willing to answer it. So please, feel free to share this story with others, so we can help protect the Doug’s of the world.
Do any of you have any “Doug-ish” stories of your own?
Google Images, key words: willy wonka, Swedish chef, make out on a couch, and couple arguing on couch.
My friend Jen shared the following story with me the other day. It was about her going to the bar with her friends, mostly. Here’s what she said…
“So I’m hanging out at the bar with some friends. We’re sitting in a booth around a big round table and this one dude, Dan, is sitting across from me. He was long gone (drunk) before we even got to the bar.
He then yells at me from across the table, ‘Hey Jen.’
I yell back, ‘Yeah Dan?’
Then he says, ‘You’re the only girl I know that doesn’t get prettier when I drink.’
I looked at him a second and said, ‘What the f… Dan?’
He then went on to explain that what he meant is that he thinks I’m pretty even when he’s not drunk. Most girls he has to have a few beers in him to think that.”*
And thus ended the story.
*(On a personal interjection here, but if you have to get drunk to find women pretty, my recommendation is you either need to stop going to those kinds of bars, or you need to start dating men.)
It did get me thinking though, how many times do we think something out in our heads to form the perfect sentence to say the perfect thing at the perfect time, and when we finally share it, it’s the perfect sentence to the mental set up you gave it and a perfectly horrible thing to say when said out of context. I think it’s one of those universals in life that we all experience and that makes us all the same… even thought we are all different… which also makes us all the same. Ahh, Universal Individualism: making everyone the same since 8 million BC*, even though we are all different. You know what I think? I think that belongs on a t-shirt!
*(Which is arbitrary number that I just made up.)
I’m trying to think of some of my own “mental conversation not agreeing with the real conversation” moments. I know I’ve had them; my guess is that I am just going out of my way to not remember them. What I remember about these types of conversational mishaps is that it is much easier to forgive yourself for what you said than it is for the other person to forgive you. It’s mainly because you had the entire conversation in your head, so you know exactly what you meant when you made the stand alone statement that got the other party in such a huff.
Another thing that can happen is when you try to get creative with your vocabulary, using words you usually don’t. When you get ready to use the word, you kind of forget it in its entirety, but you still remember some of it. So you wing it, and make up a whole new word that sounds a little like the original word. The result, the other person defines this new word to mean something much worse that you would have come up with on your own. Case in point:
You are out shopping and the significant other or friend. They are trying on a dress that makes them look very regal and magnanimous and you opt to use the second word, but don’t quite remember it so you come out with, “Wow that outfit makes you look so mangansimous.”
To which they reply, “Mangasimous? It makes me look like a man with gas? What does that mean?” All the while they are slowly, yet consistently, raising their voice. And thus begins an unwarranted, yet suddenly needed apology accompanied by you offering to purchase Starbucks for the drive home.
Another mixed word interpretation that can actually get you in even more trouble is when you use a word meaning it in one very specific way, but it is one of those words that had multiple and very different definitions and the definition that the other person uses is not how it was intended. Another case in point :
Using the same situation as before, when the person asks how they look you offer this little sentiment, “You look absolutely awful!”
The response that follows is, at least in my experience, usually filled with a collection of expletives, some that suggests my mother was of canine origin, and the automatic and instant expectation that I am officially taking part, as the only contestant in a little activity called “The Silent Game.” My participation in this game continued until I offended party home. If you find yourself in a similar situation, trust me, don’t try explaining that you meant awful as in full of awe as opposed to being dreadful, terrible, appalling, unpleasant, or bad. Words are not on your side at that point and you will be deemed a liar until chocolate and wine, or flowers, or both are given from you, to them and you are dismissed from “The Silent Game” so you can begin to explain and be forgiven of the use of the word in question.
With all the internet capable cell phones out there this process may have changed a bit since my blunder. It’s much easier to look up words and get an online dictionary to assist you in pleading your case when this type of situation now occurs. Still, words can sure be tricky things sometimes. Just five years ago, instant definition followed by reluctant, yet understanding, forgiveness really wasn’t an option. For your own safety, you use to have to walk around with a pocket dictionary. You know what I learned from walking around with a pocket diction in my, well, pocket… I wasn’t going to shopping with anyone that really fancied a guy with a pocket dictionary.
The best advice I can give… nice. Always use the word nice. It will never let you over commit. It is a short and simple word that everyone knows, appreciated, and likes. It will keep you safe.
So how about you, what are some of your good words gone bad experiences?
Google Images, key words: friends at bar, we’re different we’re the same, trying on outfits, no talking, and pocket dictionary.
I have, from time to time been so compelled, moved, and motivated to pass on cash to the occasional beggar. It was during my summer in San Francisco that learned the errors of making eye contact with strangers on the street and of carrying any cash on me when I left the house. Responding to them is something that takes a little getting use too if you’ve had no experience talking to these people. I remember one day, while on my way to work, a younger guy, close to my age, was lounging on a bench and yelled out to me, “You got a dollar?”
“I’m fine thanks.” I replied. I was aware of my error the second I let it out. Trust me when I tell you that beggars don’t appreciate you replying to their begging in the same way you would when responding to a sales associate who approaches you and asks if there is anything they can help you find.
“I the one that’s not fine!” the man said back to me, puffing out his chest, but making no effort to leave the bench. He kept yelling after me as I continued to walk to work, but I ignored what he was saying. I do remember thinking that if I could get a job in the overpriced city of San Francisco, I’m pretty sure he could too. At this point I started laughing. I’m not sure if everyone experiences this, but for me all it took was a summer in San Francisco surrounded a sea of beggars for me to actually utter the phrase, “Get a job hippie.” and mean it. Times they were a changing.
I say beggar because there is a very distinct difference between being homeless and being a beggar. You can have plenty of homeless people that beg, but when it comes to begging for a living, well, it’s a living, one that can enable some of your more proficient beggars an income that exceeds $100,000 a year. My biggest gripe is that I really can’t tell the difference, unless of course you happen to see them changing for work.
It was during my last trip to Vegas a few weeks back where I saw this rear opportunity of seeing a professional beggar out of his natural habitat and in the wild… dressing up, actually dressing down, getting ready for work. It was the last night in town and Angela and I were with friends and on our way to dinner when we stopped at a red traffic light. I notice a little supped up Honda pull past us and a guy jumped out of the front passenger side and walked to the corner. As the light turned green we rolled past the intersection there was the guy who gotten out of the car, holding some cardboard sign about being hungry, or trying to get enough cash to get a bus ticket home to his little kid, or something like that specifically devised to pull at ones heart-strings so they will be more apt to give a dollar.
The thing was he was holding the sign between his legs while he was changing shirts. He had one nice clean shirt that was resting over a guardrail while he was putting on a very nasty looking t-shirt that had a few holes in it. I mean talk about a gutsy fraud. Then again the first group of cars was the one that got to see this rare metamorphosis in progress. All subsequent groups would only see a professional beggar passing as a homeless person in need. It made me a little sad because essentially what you are doing when you give a professional beggar a dollar is tipping a lazy person for being a bad actor.
I’m all for helping the homeless. It’s just a bit of a struggle to figure out who’s homeless and who’s pretending to be homeless. So I donate to local soup kitchens and homeless shelters or offer a few dollars to people who are at those places. I figure that the pretend homeless won’t be going to places that those in need gather at for meals, support, and a nights rest.
If you are of the disposition of giving a beggar some cash, try making it an even exchange. It was something I picked up in San Francisco, and it takes only one word… “Why?” When someone walks up to you and just asks for change and you simply give it to them, it seems a little one sided. So when people would start approaching me, asking for cash, I’d ask them, “Why?” It caught some off guard, but others were professionals and were ready at a moment’s notice.
I’d just sit back and listen to the story of why they needed the money. Some stories took about a minute to get through and were the equivalent to the signs that lazy beggars hold up on street corners. Some stories would last close to fifteen minutes. Once they were done with the story I’d tip them based on the how good I thought the story was. That way I was encouraging and donating to the imagination and storytelling ability of the person instead of just giving them some change with no even exchange on my part. I was much happier to donate to these performers when I started getting, well, a performance.
One of my favorite ones was from an ‘ex-military pilot’ who had been discharged after telling people about a UFO sighting he witnessed and was ordered to keep to himself. He spent a good ten minutes telling me all about the sighting and how he loved to fly his jet. The explained further that he had come to town to meet with his old commander about possibly getting his job back. Things were going well at the meeting until he got a priority call from his expecting wife. She was in labor and told him to get home as soon as possible. He was trying to get bus fare so he could get back to his wife and new baby. It was much more involved than that, but you get the basic idea. I gave him four dollars for that one. It took him about 20 minutes to get through it, and I felt like I was giving him over minimum wage for the time he’d given me. It wasn’t a great story, good but not great, it was quite entertaining though. All in all, it seemed like a rather fair exchange, and I feel a lot better about these donations now.
I do hope that in the event that I come across someone that is truly homeless and I take them for a beggar that they feel sharing a story is a little more like working for the money instead of just begging, and that they appreciate that. All in all, it’s a tricky situation to decipher. I hope some of this helps you the next time you choose to make one of these types of donations. As a general rule of thumb I stick to, if you are donating because you are being guilted into it, keep your money. If you truly want to help or want to tip a stranger for a story they just shared with you, I say go for it.
If you’ve need exposed to them, what are some of the stories beggars have told you?
Google Images, key words: begging, get a job hippie, helping the homeless, and UFO story.
At the last wine party, with travel schedules, short notices, kids, and existing plans the wine party held a smaller gathering than usual. On a groovy note though, we did have my cousin join us for the first time, which I had not seen in probably around 10 years. Now one of the many things I enjoy about the wine parties is the endless collection of conversational oddities that people bring with them and share at the party each month. It was during the last wine party that my cousin brought up an epidemic that is spreading and affecting women across the world.
There are a few prerequisites that must be met in order for a woman to fall victim to this epidemic. The first thing that is required is a cell phone. Although, not any cell phone will do. I am referring to a cell phone with texting capabilities in which the owner of the cell phone can receive pictures via text.
Now there are people who would assume that this relates to all people who are equipped with a cell phone, and I would agree were I not one of the freaks out there that has an abrasion to texts. It’s not that I disagree with the concept of texting in general. I just disagree with the concept of me receiving and sending text messages. In fact my personal abrasion to the texting phenomena resulted in me contacting my cell phone provider and rearranging my phone to block all texts from my phone, both incoming and outgoing.
Sure it might sound a little archaic, but by that simple choice alone I am one of the most polite cell phone owning humans on the planet. Hey, I understand that the way people are communicating is changing. I have even heard from some parents that texting is the only way they are able to communicate with their teenagers. Personally I think this is a result of poor choices in parenting and they are letting themselves get sucked into a myth about texting being a gateway of communication between parents and teenagers that the cell phone companies have released on the internet as a way to boot cell phone sales. Parents are beginning to believe that they need to get their kid a cell phone with texting so they can talk to their kid. Even if you remove the conspiracy theory of that statement, shame on you for taking the lazy way out and given up on traditional spoken conversation, replacing it with bad grammar, nonexistent punctuation, and the use of the endless anagrams for words because people are too lazy to spell it out… I mean seriously, wtf?
In my experience, texting breeds rudeness, but because its texting, people fail to comprehend that they are being rude when texting or simply checking an incoming text while in the middle of a conversation. Yes, there are times and places where I can see how it is a useful tool. My problem is that I see texting as a tool that is turning people into tools without them realizing it.
I accept that texting is here and will be around for a while until something comes along that will replace it. Until then, and because this behavior is a relatively new addition to the human social dynamic wouldn’t you think that there should be texting etiquette classes? I think the class would break down to the following rule:
If you are having a conversation with an actual human, don’t text to someone else in the middle of your conversation or read texts you receive during the a fore mentioned conversation with said “real person.”
Appendix 1: Texting a third party is acceptable if it relates to contacting a third party that is being invited to the conversation.
Appendix 2: Checking received texts is acceptable if the situation is explained to the other “real person” in the conversation that you are expecting an important call or text, prior to engaging into a real conversation.
I don’t care if it could be the baby sitter with an emergency about the kids. You know what happened back in the day when something would happen while the parents were away? The baby sitter would drive your behind to the hospital, of if she couldn’t drive she would call her mom and her mom would show up and drive your butt to the hospital. Either way the situation was handled and your thumb was reattached, and your parents were still able to enjoy a nice evening out with friends or, better yet, each other.
So what was the epidemic that my cousin shared? The baffling yet regular habit of lesser mentally developed men that feel the need to, and consistently engages in the practice of sending a picture, via text, of the guy taking a picture of his reflection completely naked with his naughty bits waving hello to some poor unsuspecting woman who had only gone out with the chap only once a few days prior. I mean, who does that? I wish I had an answer, but it completely baffles me, bewilders me, befuddles me, and other words starting with b.
There were a few people at the party who admitted to having received more than one candid photo from more than one mentally broken male presenting their peanut sized brain in digital form to a girl that they have either chatted with online, had dinner with as a result of friends setting them, or that they had been chatting/stalking via Facebook. None of us at the party could really figure it out. One has started keeping a collection of all the “junk” files she receives in the event that fame or fortune comes to the junk sender. She figures at that point she can always sell the images to the highest bidder.
You know what I find confusing about selling photos like that? If you attempt to sell the image back to the individual who freely sent them to you in the first place, law enforcement experts chose to call that blackmail, but if you sell it to a third party so that they can release it to every major news networks and with any luck get the image to go viral so millions of people Google and giggle at some candid photo, it’s perfectly legit and often called entertainment. The world is a funny place sometimes.
I find it a little disturbing how common of a practice this actually is. The more people I talk to about this, the more I find people responding, “Oh yeah, happens all the time.” It’s almost as if it’s such a common practice that people just aren’t affected by it anymore. One of the party goers did admit that weren’t terrible opposed to it if there was some creativity involved with the picture taking, but this was the same person saving the photos for possible money making opportunities. My theory is that if you get the model to play “naughty bits” dress up the photo is going to be a lot more valuable in the resellers market. Who knows though, maybe that’s the line for her where junk becomes art.
I mean, I knew texting was a gateway habit to poor etiquette, but I had no idea how far south the poor etiquette meter it can cause some people to go. I hope it gets better, but sadly no matter what you consider is acceptable or not, I fear that as long as there are devices that have cameras on them there are going to be people jumping in front of them as the take picture button is pushed wearing only a smile. If you are one of these smiley people, practice some social skills and at least ask the person if they want to see it instead of just surprising them with a text that is going to add an extra year to their therapist visits. It’s the right thing to do.
Normally I’d ask for your stories on the topic, but I’m a little afraid to ask… your call I suppose, but please don’t send me any pictures.
Google Images, key words: texting, naughty texting, texting at dinner, blackmail, and poor etiquette.