Rubber, Rubber. All the world needs rubber.
The Captain’s revelation regarding the use of rubber gloves while touching yourself, reminded me of my great aunt who passed away some time back.
This really isn’t as sick as you’re thinking right now, so don’t get you’re hopes up. I’ve delayed writing this up, because there’s just so much I could tell you about dear old... Auntie M, we’ll call her. There is a story I’ve told about her more times than I can count, but for some reason I feel icky trying to write it up. I may have to skip that tale for now.
M was the oldest of my grandfather’s little sisters. They were born around 1910, and grew up very religious. The two sisters lived together until the 70’s when the younger sister passed away. M was a very kissy lady. We would go visit her when I was a kid and she always wanted to give me a kiss. It was awful. My mother yelled at me once for immediately wiping my cheek on my sleeve one time. I replied with “But it was running down my shirt.” I’m not sure if my mother’s mortified look was from the fact that I said this in front of M or just the realization that there was indeed saliva running down my shirt.
M always wanted me to sleep in her bed with her when we came to visit. At 12 I finally convinced my parents to recommend that I sleep in the creepy attic by myself when we visited M. She didn’t like that. We went to dinner, and I got stuck in a booth next to her. She kept kissing me all through dinner. I kept looking at my parents like “will you please do something for fuck sake?” That was the last time they brought me along to visit M.
So back to the rubber gloves. M grew up through the depression and all that with a brother eight years older and a little sister. She never had children, nor was she ever around children. She was married to a man for a few years in the early 1960’s (that's where that other story I want to tell comes from). While she was married she actually asked my parents if she could HAVE my older brother who had just been born. “You kids are young, you can have more children.” She told them. When she found out I had Cerebral Palsy she wanted them to let me live with her because “Portland has better schools for that sort of thing..” Incidentally, that conversation coincided with my parents decision not to bring me to visit her anymore.
M walked in on my aunt Roberta once while she was changing a diaper on her infant son. Now if you’ve ever witnessed this kind of thing you’re probably aware that even an infant knows that big jim is a whole lotta fun, especially when you’ve got your feet straight up in the air. Shocked and dismayed at what she saw, Auntie M screamed at the top of her lungs:
“Roberta, what are you doing?! Don’t you know that if you don’t put rubber gloves on that boy he’ll grow up to be a homosexual?!!”
This really isn’t as sick as you’re thinking right now, so don’t get you’re hopes up. I’ve delayed writing this up, because there’s just so much I could tell you about dear old... Auntie M, we’ll call her. There is a story I’ve told about her more times than I can count, but for some reason I feel icky trying to write it up. I may have to skip that tale for now.
M was the oldest of my grandfather’s little sisters. They were born around 1910, and grew up very religious. The two sisters lived together until the 70’s when the younger sister passed away. M was a very kissy lady. We would go visit her when I was a kid and she always wanted to give me a kiss. It was awful. My mother yelled at me once for immediately wiping my cheek on my sleeve one time. I replied with “But it was running down my shirt.” I’m not sure if my mother’s mortified look was from the fact that I said this in front of M or just the realization that there was indeed saliva running down my shirt.
M always wanted me to sleep in her bed with her when we came to visit. At 12 I finally convinced my parents to recommend that I sleep in the creepy attic by myself when we visited M. She didn’t like that. We went to dinner, and I got stuck in a booth next to her. She kept kissing me all through dinner. I kept looking at my parents like “will you please do something for fuck sake?” That was the last time they brought me along to visit M.
So back to the rubber gloves. M grew up through the depression and all that with a brother eight years older and a little sister. She never had children, nor was she ever around children. She was married to a man for a few years in the early 1960’s (that's where that other story I want to tell comes from). While she was married she actually asked my parents if she could HAVE my older brother who had just been born. “You kids are young, you can have more children.” She told them. When she found out I had Cerebral Palsy she wanted them to let me live with her because “Portland has better schools for that sort of thing..” Incidentally, that conversation coincided with my parents decision not to bring me to visit her anymore.
M walked in on my aunt Roberta once while she was changing a diaper on her infant son. Now if you’ve ever witnessed this kind of thing you’re probably aware that even an infant knows that big jim is a whole lotta fun, especially when you’ve got your feet straight up in the air. Shocked and dismayed at what she saw, Auntie M screamed at the top of her lungs:
“Roberta, what are you doing?! Don’t you know that if you don’t put rubber gloves on that boy he’ll grow up to be a homosexual?!!”
posted by Sylow_P | 11:13 AM
5 Comments:
Does every family have to have a similarly bizzare Aunt? It is usually the ones that live alone too - they get strange notions about real life.
The wacky great aunt in my family took me boating on a 90 degree day when I was about nine, and wouldn't let me wear a hat because she said the sun would put beatiful streaks into my blonde hair.
Instead I ended up hurling in the boat from sun stroke.
There always has to be at least one wacky aunt....why oh why?
Glad your parents saved you from anymore sleep overs.
There IS always a wacky aunt. I'm afraid though I may be the wacky aunt for the next generation.
Your story reminds me of Bart and Lisa Simpson visiting their aunts. Your story is so crazy but shockingly true.
It's true? Do they make rubber gloves for toddlers? Or do I need to stock up on habeneros?
I don't have a wacky aunt - I have a wacky grandmother.
When I was young, she told me that if I touched Big Jim, my belly button would fall off and everyone would know.
Yeah, belly button and blindness is a pretty common tale. I am a little disturbed by the thought of your grandmother talking about big jim. I mean if my grandma had ever done such a thing I might have shit myself on the spot.
I still want to know where she heard about rubber gloves. I mean my feelings for big jim are certainly no indicator for interest in somebody else's 'big jim'.
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