The Funologist by Blair Bryan

Author:Blair Bryan [Bryan, Blair]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blair Bryan

Glee flooded my chest, and I immediately responded.

Me: You do? Heart-eyed emoticon. What did you have in mind?

Cora: Just an easy night in? We can order some takeout?

Me: I’ll be there at six.

Now that I was taking pride in my appearance, showering, preening, and grooming took much longer. I methodically cleaned every inch of my skin, hair, and nails and then shaved everything, and I mean everything. I manscaped for the first time in my life for Cora because this was the crucial date.

The third date. The sex date.

At least, that’s what the Cosmo I read standing in line at the grocery store said. I slapped some newly acquired Polo on my freshly shaven cheeks. It stung when it settled into the two cuts that were covered with a wad of toilet paper, like putting lemon juice in an open wound. Down below I attempted to manscape for the first time. Big mistake. My unskilled over-eager maiden voyage into the land of penile grooming garnered a pretty deep cut on my balls that bled forever. Not thinking, I swiped some aftershave down there, and it might be the single worst idea I have ever had in my entire life. If I thought the cuts on my chin were bad, this was a million times worse. Imagine your tenderest places exposed and sliced wide open and then voluntarily rubbing the equivalent of rubbing alcohol into the fresh wound. The screaming from the burning was so loud Ma made it all the way down the steps to check on me.

It’s so much fun talking to your mother about your burning balls through a door. No, really. You know those parents that say, ‘My kids and I, we talk about everything. I’m an open book.’ Some books should remain shut. Some books should be padlocked and thrown into the river. This was such a book.

“You’re wasting your time. Aftershave won’t make you any less ugly, dumbass.”

Ignoring the voice that cracked in my ear, I squirted blue gel into the palms of my hands and rubbed it into my freshly shortened hair the way the girl from Great Clips taught me.

Obnoxious laughter rang out behind me, and I tuned it out.

I pulled out the pleather pants from the box, bit the tag off with my teeth, spit it out, and began to tug them up my skinny legs and over my wounded junk. The process was lengthy, included a lot of jumping, and should be counted as cardio, because at the end of it, my heart was pounding from effort. Finally, after my legs were successfully encased in buttery black pleather, I donned a V-neck t-shirt and a black jacket. All courtesy of Amazon. The pants were skintight, hugging my flat behind, and cinched in tight at the waist, squeezing all the extra up and over the waistband, which significantly increased my paunch. One look in the mirror, and I could see I looked like I was about six months pregnant.

You look like a busted ass can of biscuits.

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