Lou Milner - The Story of P

The Story of P

by Lou Milner

They called him Porky because he was so thin. And also because that was his grandfather's name. Not that there was a tradition of naming one family member after another. There wasn't. In fact, the family had no traditions whatsoever, but with the arrival of Porky they saw an opportunity for the birth of a custom.

Once, when Porky was very small, he asked his grandpa, "Grandpa, why do people call you Porky?" And Grandpa replied, "So you'd have someone to be named after." Porky was immediately in awe of the amazing foresight possessed by his great grandparents. And from that moment onward, Porky made it his life's ambition to be just like them.

Being just like Porky's great grandparents was no easy accomplishment, especially as he had so little to work with. For starts, Porky's great granddaddy had taken one shot, one squirt, one plunge -so to speak- at the act of procreation, and, just seconds after the big climax, Porky's great granddaddy was hit by a bus while fleeing the wrath of Porky's great, great granddaddy on his mother's side. Porky's great grandmother, however, lived to tell the tale, but, as she always said, "Now, Porky, what do you want to go and hear that old story again for? I told you, there's not much to tell. We were 14. We were in love. We boinked. He died. Life goes on."

Porky thought that was one of the most romantic stories he had ever heard and, as a result, he had set his sights so high that by the time he reached the age of 34, he had a severe astigmatism and was pretty much resigned to the fact that true love was never going to strike him down. Not that he had a death wish.

Here's Porky's profile at age 34: Height 5' 11" (an inch shy of six feet); Weight 180 lbs. (1,820 pounds short of a ton); Eyes 2 (exactly the right number); Hair some (and not just on his toes). In brief, Porky was your average-looking guy. Sure, he had a few ticks, but nothing that couldn't be sprayed for.

He once had a girlfriend whose name was Suzette. Well, she wasn't really his girlfriend, but she had dated him once. Perhaps dated isn't exactly the right word. She picked him up actually, at the grocery store. Felt sorry for the poor bugger. He needed a haircut in the worst way, and as Suzette was a cleaner in a salon, she thought she knew everything there was to know about dead ends. Not so. Porky was able to teach even Suzette a thing or two about grooming.

When Suzette took him home, she ever so charitably pointed out Porky's shortcombings and suggested in the gentlest way that he use long complete strokes beginning at the scalp. Porky patiently, for Porky was nothing if not patient, explained that long, even strokes were not possible, as the comb always got stuck in a snag half way down his lengthy tendrils. Sweet Suzette offered to trim his locks at snag level, but Porky felt Suzette, a mere cleaning lady, was too inexperienced to mess with his hemp. Suzette thought calling his twisted yarn hemp was evidence of his delusional state and pursued the matter no further.

After a nice cup of tea laced with catnip, Suzette poured Porky into a shopping cart and wheeled him back to the mall where they had met mere hours earlier. Naturally, they both said what a wonderful time they'd had, and each promised most sincerely to call the other. "Let's do it again," said he. "Sure, maybe next Saturday - if I'm free," said Suzette, all the while knowing she would never be free enough to meet Porky again.

Porky, for his part, had no intention of calling Suzette and felt kind of sorry that she would be sitting or standing or lying by the phone waiting for the call that would never come. But surely that was better than leading the unfortunate girl on, non? Oui!

Now, an innocent bystander might look at the two of them, Sweet Suzette and Patient Porky, and think here's a match made in heaven: She, clean; he, not so. She, charitable; he, delusional. But that innocent bystander would be wrong. Suzette and Porky were well rid of one another. Any fool - as opposed to any innocent bystander - could see that. If they had continued to date, or be picked up, Nature would have taken her course and before you could say does-anybody-here-have-a-can-opener? Porky would have short hair, and Suzette would be bugging him to get a job and bring home more than the bacon. Porky would feel he had betrayed everything he'd ever stood for or longed to stand for or thought about standing for or knew he would think about standing for one day or one month or one year, and in the end, they would be two miserable people living under one ceiling with nothing in common but a light bulb. What kind of a life would that be? Based on the advice given thus far, here's what should have happened, according to the author (Ed: It should be noted that the author has absolutely no credentials in the areas of medicine, psychological counseling, or food preparation):

Porky should have considered his options. To himself, Porky should have thought, hmm, Suzette was kind of nice, and not bad looking. She only wanted to help. We're all different. So, she doesn't find my hair attractive, big deal. Maybe she has a friend who will see me for the studmuffin I long to be, and maybe if I met the right woman I would even consider trimming my natural fibers. In fact, come to think of it, maybe I could use a bit of a shakedown. I've looked this way for a long time. Pretty much since high school. And it didn't really work for me in high school, either. I only ever had one date and that was because Julie offered it to me in Home Ec class - been hooked on matrimonial bars¹ ever since.

A haircut, eh? But that would mean going to one of those fancy Tenth Avenue salons, and I'd feel like an idiot walking into a place with bamboo and leather. And God, they want a fortune just for a little soap and a slice. Then, if I got my hair cut, I'd have to buy the new rags to go with the cut. And I wouldn't feel right in a pair of wool pants with a center crease. I wouldn't even feel right walking into a store that sold wool pants. Hmm, Suzette. Okay, she was a bit on the plump side, but she did have a certain coq au vin². Maybe I should give her a call. Ask her to take me shopping.

Naturally the author agrees with Porky's imaginary meanderings and thinks shopping with Suzette would be an excellent idea. After all, is there a woman even partially alive who could resist an opportunity to partake in a makeover? To alleviate the pressure of mistaken intentions, the author recommends Porky be honest about his objective. He should say, "Hi, Suzette? Listen, I don't think we were exactly smitten the other night, and we're probably not right for each other, but I was wondering if you would consider helping me change my image. I'd like you to come shopping with me. Huh? Yes, of course I'll push the buggy. And get the hair cut first."

Expectations of each other are now clear, the pressure of coupling has been removed, and the two might actually learn to like each other in the process. Really. What could be more intimate, without being truly intimate, than shopping?

On the appointed day, Suzette will have undoubtedly arranged for a shampoo and cut by the most accomplished stylist in her shop. And by the time they walk out the door into the world of crass consumerism, Porky will already look and feel better, somehow lighter. No one, he'll muse, has paid this much attention to me in years, and the head massage during the shampoo was practically organic³. By the time they reach the corner, Porky will have reconsidered the suggestion of a pedicure and manicure, and possibly even highlights, and soon he and she will be heading back to the shop for same. Shopping, unfortunately, will be postponed till another day.

Suzette, meanwhile, will be utterly bored, but that's the price one must occasionally pay for making a new friend happy.

¹A square made with dates and oatmeal
²Chicken cooked in a wine sauce and usually garnished with onions and mushrooms. (Neither the author nor Porky are fluent in French. What the author possibly meant was savoir faire.)
³Of course it would be. Everyone has organic shampoos these days, but apparently there are those who walk among us who also have orgasmic shampoos. If you are one of these, please send true confessions and a lock of your hair to the author in a hermetically-sealed envelope.