The Kumquat Tongue

"Don't know much about a science book. Don't know much about the French I took . But I do know that..." Sam Cooke from "Wonderful World"

I gotta admit the nurse was looking hotter than Georgia asphalt when she came to my room. It might have been the pharmaceuticals in her hand, or the ruby red lipstick that made her mouth look more inviting than a priest asking the altar boys to join him in the rectory, but I almost blurted out those three little words. You know the words, don't make me say 'em.

Those three words have ruined more lives than polio. The can cause devastating pain, sweet euphoria, and pain so intense it would make John Wayne hide behind a rock. Being the first one in the twosome, or threesome (again, not here to judge) to drop those words is tantamount to being the first guy to push the button and launch the nuclear arsenal. That is, unless you're saying them strictly to seal the deal. Then its easy as one, two, three.

The first time I said them to a girl I wanted to touch my man-bits I was a mess. Sweat was pouring out of me in marathon runner gallons, my tongue was swollen to the size of a kumquat, my legs shook like Parkinson's was setting in. It was miserable. I was on the verge of blacking out from the nerve, though the half bottle of Captain Morgan's Spiced Rum, the most delicious rum in all the land (available at stores everywhere, drink irresponsibly), was not helping matters. By the way, little tip, half blasted on rum is no time to start professing anything, again, unless its to close the sale, so to speak. Its the ABC's, Always Be Closing.

The recipient of the intoxicated declaration was a cotton candy sweet girl. I had known her for quite some time and thought that she might, might, just accept my statement with the proper enthusiasm. But that slurring voice in the back of mind was screaming "Don't do it, you Moron." Generally its good to listen to the voice in your head, its usually your conscience. And the voice of reason knew that if it didn't go well I was gonna have a breakfast plate piled high with heaps of regret. That's when the booze really got a foot hold, gagging the Jiminy Cricket bastard, and beating it into submission. The time had arrived and I was about to jump the shark in a completely non-literal way.

I swallowed hard, trying to clear any liquid from my oral cavity. Last thing I wanted to do was accidentally spit a little as the words came out. It was like, swallowing the Pacific Ocean, I swear that Mark Foo surfed the wave down my esophagus. With dry cheeks I steadied myself on the edge of my bed and looked deep into her eyes. Brown pools of soul that you could have gotten lost in for days on end. Just as I was about to blurt it out she licked her lips in nervously anticipating what was to come. Then I heard the words escape in my not yet Marlboro Light lowered voice and waited for her reaction.

Do you remember the first time you said it to someone? Did you get the reaction you expected? Did you mean it?

Dixie Cup of Love: Brown Eyed Girls everywhere.