Dateline: high school. Senior year. I was a late bloomer. Which was my fault. I was too dense to realize girls were keen on me. I did nothing about it. Had no game. Cute fun girls who dug me were in my bed and I did nothing, just chatted. Now that is having no game.
After the clusterfuck Ponderosa gig ended with a physical attack & threatened lawsuit, I landed a fry cook gig at the 1st Skipper's Seafood fast food joint in MN. Heady stuff. Exciting times. Groundbreaking. Several times I got to wear the full-size parrot mascot getup out on the sidewalk, waving traffic into the parking lot. I would do a big jump when a car pulled in. The manager said I was the best parrot on staff. Let's focus.
So new fast-food joints hire a bunch of teens as they enjoy a rush of new customers for a few months upon opening, then it tails off. Stop me when this gets too exciting. One of the hires was a girl we'll call a totally random name, something like Sharon Higgins. So, Sharon dug me for whatever reason, and we started 'going out.' For me it wasn't that I dug her back (she was ok) but there was something off here. Por ejemplo, she lived w/her grandparents, and was vague about her parents. Not like they were dead, but they were out of the picture somehow. But she was off in general, in hindsight: mental health issue. Not bad though, at the time, just off. She seemed sad. Anxious. Don't recall her smiling or laughing much. But hey, we were both 18. Nobody cares back then. And: it's a girl talking to me. So that's a win right there.
After a week or 3 of weird conversations & 'heavy petting' we had the sexy time. Earmuffs. Both virgins. I guess we figured it out. I recall it was actually painful and thought 'if this is what all the fuss is about it is considerably overrated.'
But mainly, I didn't want to see her anymore. She was too depressing. I was 18, my life ahead of me, and she was a bummer. Ergo, maybe a few days later, I 'broke up' with her. Don't recall the words, hopefully I was nice about it, probably wasn't, but don't recall.
Bad timing.
Exactly one week after that convo, I'm in the back room at Skippers, she walks in wearing street clothes, hands me a note and walks out. I unwrap & read. It's brief. Thanks for the memories, take care. Oh and: I'm pregnant.
I nearly fainted. It was summer, I'm headed to college in a month or 2, starting my real life finally, and now this. It was bad.
But wait! There's more! Sharon Higgins then drives over to my house nearby. My mum is home, invites her in, why not? Sharon sits her down and tells her 'I just want you to know your son got me pregnant.' And leaves. Not actual pic:
Later that day she works her way through the Minneapolis phone book, calling every matching last name, asking each 'are you Francis dad?' repeat, repeat, repeat (there's about 20 matching names back then). Actually, does connect live with my pop, and of course informs him, wait for it: 'your son got me pregnant.' My pop is a shrink. Used to dealing with nutters. Actually, that's his job. He immediately replies 'you're lying' & hangs up.
Fortunately, he's correct. Sharon Higgins is lying.
Did I mention she told the entire staff at Skippers that 'he got me pregnant.' Thanks Sharon! A few weeks after that she told the entire staff she miscarried. Problem solved.
Meanwhile, my pops gives me the talk, basically the birds & bees. Tells me she's lying. I ask 'how do you know'? He says 'trust me I know. She's lying. Oh and for future: always wrap it in foil before you check their oil.'
How bad was her lie for me? I was so freaked out about an unplanned pregnancy that I was impotent for the next 2 years. Not until well into my sophomore college year did I connect with a very cute, patient skirt who believed in me & helped me get over the hump. Earmuffs.
Being a lifelong bachelor, mostly; I've dated many womenfolk. Ergo, lots & lots & lots of nutters. One broke my front door to get back into my house & resume her freakout (but she was an ex-stripper ergo doesn't count). One was a serious drunk, banging on my door barefoot in a snowstorm (after she stormed out). One would start bawling after sexytime, everytime. One was June Cleaver, looked like her, talked like her. My crazy college girlfriend(tm) Sally was nicknamed 'the acid queen.' The surgeon from hell (see NC blurbs). The one who wouldn't use her expensive Vitamix blender because the downstairs neighbor might hear it. The lawyer who told me 'you'll never meet someone like me again' (my reply: 'I hope you're right'). The Boise girlfriend who confused me with her deceased ex. The CFO making $200k/yr who went ballistic when I asked her to chip in $20 for dinner, after weeks of only me paying (exact quote she shouted at me walking outside: 'I am a princess! And I expect to be treated like one!') The Audrey Hepburn lookalike who kept a paralyzed dying cat in diapers under her bed. A few (literally) begged me to get them preggers. A few had criminal records. The gamut. You name it.
But nobody tops Sharon Higgins for flat out nutter cruelty. And for me, right out of the gate. Jelly?
In case you think I'm a jive turkey, here's Audrey Hepburn & I, circa 2012. There are occasional perks I confess:
Feeling nostalgic? Skippers 1983 commercial: