This morning as I was going about my chores, I caught myself thinking about my childhood. I didn’t really have an unhappy childhood so much as I was simply an unhappy child. I was angry, bitter, and appreciated nothing, just miserable. I had nothing but disdain and disgust for the icons of childhood. For instance, I absolutely could not abide Topo Gigio, despised him, loathed him, couldn’t stand that little motherfuckin mouse. His only saving grace was that he appeared at the very end of the Ed Sullivan show, allowing me to make my exit, having already seen the Chinese plate spinners, the Malaysian contortionists, the Flying Wallendas, or major acts such as The Beatles or Supremes.
Everybody thought he was so adorable, whereas I found him to be repugnantly needy in his wanton pandering for affection.. all of that batting his lashes and asking, “Aay-dee, keese me goo-nigh.” Had he no pride at all? Begging for a peck on the cheek, and from Ed Sullivan of all people, not even John, Paul, George, or Ringo?
I’d like to think that the years have mellowed me, that I’ve become a kinder, less cynical person. I’m sure in many and most ways I have. I’m certainly no longer bitter or unhappy. Quite the contrary. I’m an overflowing well of optimism and gratitude. However, I’m still not sure I could make such a precious attempt to cajole a person into giving me a goodnight kiss,. However, I will admit that I’d unabashedly use my acquired skills of passive-aggressive manipulation in a manner to get score a piece of ass. But, that’s just me.