Carl Begai

Note: This is not a new blog. I wrote it back in 2007 in a fit of inspiration and posted in on MySpace, where I believe it was read by a total of 2.5 people. I’ve chosen to re-publish it more or less as it was because it’s a story that still makes me shake my head in disbelief. As in, this actually happened to me?! I’ve also had some people ask about the oddball Glue In The Eye that appears in my recent blog Your Boyfriend Don’t Dance, You Can’t Rock N’ Roll. Well, this is how and why the moniker came to be. Enjoy!

When I was about 20 or 21 and still living in Toronto I had a girlfriend a year younger than me who worked at a kids’ shoe store. She was rather pretty, her two most endearing qualities were located at chest level, and although she wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed there’s no question she had at least inherited all the brain cells alotted to the family gene pool. She also had a problem with her left eye that required her to take special steroid-laced eyedrops whenever it began to hurt. It was a condition that manifested itself about a year into our relationship which, now that I think about it, could well have been an allergic reaction to yours truly.

In any case, we’d been going out for a couple years and our relationship eventually hit the Girls Night Out phase. Translated: she wanted to go out unaccompanied and get plastered with her airhead friends Dipsy, Lala and Po because she was getting rather sick of me and wanted to find someone new before serving my walking papers. And, of course, there’s no better night to get picked up in Toronto if you’re female and stacked than Thursday night, otherwise known as Booty Night by anyone between the ages of 18 and married. Thus she and her gaggle of geese headed out to a well known testosterone / estrogen meat market on Kennedy Rd. in Scarborough on a particularly warm summer night, leaving me to stew in my own juices wondering just how fucked up she was going to be by the end of the night and by whom.
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