M.O.M. wanted to be sure that we knew not to stand down when
it comes to H.O.M.I.E.s, so she bestowed her experiences upon us like gifts of
armor meant to protect us from pending stupidity. One of my favorite recollections proves that
anything can be used for self-defense.
Back in the 50’s, General Electric and other companies made
a style of hair dryer that resembled some kind of combination of a medieval torture
device and a Shop Vac. The mechanical
workings were neatly packed into a very convenient carrying case about the size
of a small suit case. A vacuum style
hose ran from the mechanics of the box to a plastic cap and warm air was then
pumped from the suitcase to gently dry your hair and put you to sleep.
M.O.M. was still living at home and walked into the house to
find Carl and his hooligan buddies camped out around the dining room table. They had most likely been sitting around
drinking and being teenage boys began cat calling when M.O.M. entered the
room. She felt the best course of
action was to retreat to the safety of her bedroom and avoid the immature
antics of Carl and his pals.
Apparently one of Carl’s friends, we’ll call him Ned, wanted
more than to cat call, and as M.O.M. made her way out of the kitchen and
started down the long hallway toward her bedroom, Ned ran up behind her and
reached around for a grope. M.O.M.
shrugged him off and walked faster, but Ned was persistent, he stayed right
behind her reaching for as much breast as he could fit into his grubby little
hand.
M.O.M. increased her pace and in a single move, swung her
arm in a backward, upward arc with all the strength she could muster. This would not have done a lot of damage
until you add to the swing of the arm the velocity and weight of the hair dryer
that was firmly gripped by its convenient carrying handle at the end of that
arm. She felt the case connect with
flesh, and I imagine she heard the air leave his lungs at the moment of
impact. She took the final step into her
room, slamming the door closed behind her without turning around, and then she
heard the thud.
They say he fell like a tree, legs perfectly straight, hands
clutching his precious family jewels, eyes wide and staring blankly ahead. It was a spot on the mark shot, an unintentional
direct hit that dropped him. There were
rumors for weeks afterward that his new nickname became Blue Balls after a
colorful discovery in the locker room during gym class.
If a grabby boy falls
in the hall way, and no one is around to hear it, does he make any noise? Probably a little.
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