There IS a Difference Between Smushed and Scrunched. Isn't there?

The year was 1984 and we were sophomores at Lincoln High School in Small City, Ohio. We were in 10th grade gym class. We referred affectionately to our gym teacher as “Beulah”, after the movie Porky’s character. You’re right…It wasn’t really with affection. She looked just like the character and acted like her as well.

When she would hear someone slip and call her “Beulah”, or overhear them whispering it, she’d yell; “THIS IS NOT PORKY’S!!! THIS IS YOUR GRADE!!!” Which of course, only incited us more. We were evil. And if I ever biologically reproduce, my offspring will no doubt have 5 eyeballs, 3 arms, 3 legs and a tail.

So, this one time, we were sitting on the bleachers in the gymnasium and she was instructing us on something that we were barely paying attention to...the scientific approach to Badminton or something like that. I was sitting on the bench behind my best buds Phil (who is also my cousin) and Patrick. Our eyes were at her crotch’s level…unfortunately.

She was walking back and forth and yapping her trap. I was looking at her…her…you know…her hoo-haa and it seemed kind of smushed. Like it was crammed uncomfortably into her sweatpants. So, I leaned over in between Phil and Pat and whispered, “Hey you guys, look at her pussy, it’s all scrunched up.”

Well, she heard me.

And she proceeded to yell; “THAT’S DISGUSTING!!! THAT’S AWFUL!!! THIS IS NOT PORKY’S!!! THIS IS YOUR GRADE!!!”

We couldn’t believe that she referred to her own pussy as “disgusting” and “awful”. But hey, different strokes for different folks, live and let live, right? Unless of course, she wasn’t referring to her private parts being particularly scrunched, but rather my foul mouth and mischievousness.

Curiously, she didn’t take me to the principal’s office or anything. I think that she was somewhat embarrassed that some little fuckhead had referred to her pussy as being all “scrunched up”.

I mean really…Was she going to drag me down to the principal’s office and say, “HE SAID MY PUSSY WAS SCRUNCHED UP!”??

And what would I have said in my defense? Would I have vehemently proclaimed my philanthropic intentions by just trying to point out to the class that her labia (or labium?) didn’t seem comfortable? Or that I was genuinely concerned about the health of her vagina by it appearing as though it were suffocating?

And maybe the principal would've taken a gander at the scrunchedness and contemplated then would've been forced to admit, "Yes, I believe the boy has a point."

Anyway, we laughed (commiserated) about it for years. I doubt that she did. I do hope that she eventually found some humor in it, but I doubt it.

So, yes we laughed (were nauseated) about it for years. I thought back in 1984 that I had gotten away with it without anyone of any consequence finding out.

I was wrong.

During our past trip to New Mexico, we were visiting my cousin Ellen and her husband John in Santa Fe. My cousin Phil and his wife Kara had flown in from D.C. and we hadn’t seen one another in 7 years. It was beyond awesome to see them. They’re some of my most favorite people on the planet.

We were having a grand visit. We took the dogs hiking on a trail right outside their beautiful home, then had some lunch and headed into Santa Fe to walk around a bit. Well, we returned back to their home for some dinner. Spirits consisted of wine, martinis and margaritas and then we began reminiscing; usually a fun part of the evening, sometimes the dangerous one.

So, after some guards were lowered, my cousin Ellen says, “Uncle Steve, Aunt Maureen (my parents), did you know about the time when Kevin said something about the gym teacher’s crotch? And she heard him?”

My mouth dropped open and Phil looked panicked. I don’t think that either one of us ever imagined that Ellen would inform MY PARENTS about that incident, even if it was over 20 years ago.

Ellen retold the story and did it gleefully. I was sitting at the head of the table with a cloth napkin over my head, hiding my shame...a paper bag would've been more appropriate. I only spoke up when she mistakenly said that I had said, “Hey you guys...look at her pussy...it’s all smushed up.” I piped up and corrected her by saying, “I did not...I believe that I said, scrunched up.”

We all laughed, but honestly, I was mortified. I know that I’m almost 38 years old. And I know that my mother has heard much more than I ever want to think that she’s heard. But, I just never thought that she would hear this story. And certainly not in front of me...20 years later.

Well, if that all weren’t bad enough, I thought...while we’re getting a few things out in the open, I’m going to bring something up.

I wish that I hadn’t.

Years ago, probably almost 20 (it must have been, "The Year of The Pussy), I was with my oldest brother Chris, his wife Jeanne, their two young children and Mom and Dad. We were driving through southern Pennsylvania in the summertime. We were going white water rafting for the weekend at Ohiopyle. The Youghiogheny [yaw-ki-GAY-nee] (It's a discriminatory Native American term for "You all have homosexual knees". Hey, don't ask me, I just work here.) River Gorge has some great white water that we had rafted before.

So, we were driving on the switchbacks in the mountains heading to our campsite. It’s fairly sparse out there, no developments or anything like that. There are dogs that run freely, broken down cars on blocks in the yards, appliances on the front porch and chickens that usually get too close to the road. You get the picture. While we were driving, we passed a house that was about 100 yards off the road and it had a sign posted out by the road that read: “PIES FOR SALE”, with an arrow pointing down the driveway to the house. That's nice enough, right?

Well, someone had painted in “HAIR” above the “PIES FOR SALE”...So, it read, “HAIR PIES FOR SALE”.

As if this weren’t funny enough, what was the icing on the cake, or the “fur on the burger”...so to speak, was hearing my Mother’s puzzled voice from the backseat say in complete confusion, “Hair pies?”. Like, what in the hell is a hair pie? There was no way that either my brother or myself were going to inform her exactly what that was.

So, while we were at my cousin Ellen’s dinner table in Santa Fe and my Mother’s angelic opinion of me was being shattered, (okay, maybe not angelic, but something north of evil) and the margaritas were encouraging me to ask. I asked.

I asked and a very quiet audience received me. My parents blinked a few times and looked at me with as much confusion as they did 20 years ago. And when the mystery of “Hair pies” was explained, it just wasn’t that funny. It was embarrassing for all of us. For them and for us.

SO thankfully, my cousin Ellen decided to save the day and change the subject. She enthusiastically said, "What about the time Kev and Phil stole that toilet and took it around to all the monuments in town and took pictures of each other pretending to take craps in it? Did you guys know about that one?

I suddenly felt that I were 10 and should go to my room.