Barbie
06-17-2004, 05:43 PM
Hockey Night Hygiene Hysteria (http://www.thetoque.com/030916/femininehygiene.htm)
IN THE REC ROOM-- It was Saturday night, and the Walker men were doing what they do every Saturday night--watching the hockey game. Paul loves spending the time with his six-year-old son Jeffrey, who is a huge hockey fan. It was a great game, so far, and the two were completely absorbed in the sport's testosterone-enriched on-ice excitement.
Paul distracts his son Jeffrey from thoughts about feminine hygiene.
But then it happened.
During a break in the action, there came that one moment that all fathers dread, thirty seconds of intense fear that grabs men by the genitals and holds on like an action adventurer on a rope bridge. The network ran a feminine hygiene commercial.
Paul reached for the remote control, but he fumbled with the device, and its two triple 'A' batteries flew out and rolled underneath the couch. Paul struggled to get out of his usually-comfortable recliner, but he was held back by a half-full bottle of Molson Canadian between his legs and the bowl of barbecue potato chips in his lap. But it was already too late. The damage had been done.
"Dad? What's a 'tampon'?" asked Jeffrey innocently. Those four simple words sent an icy shiver down Paul's back and caused parts of his body to retract further than nature had intended. No man should ever be required to answer a question like this.
Paul looked around desperately for his wife Noreen, but he knew she was across the street playing Canasta with her neighbour. She would've known what to do.
"Why the hell would they air a woman's commercial during the game?" questioned Paul. "It's a frickin' hockey broadcast! There shouldn't be any chick stuff! I should only be seeing ads about sports cars, sporting goods, and power tools. I can answer questions about tools!"
Jeffrey was looking back curiously at his nervous father, patiently waiting for an answer.
"Uncomfortable silence I can handle," said Paul. "And I could probably field a question about sex. But even I don't know what the rationale is for the blue dye. If it was blue windshield-wiper fluid I could've told him the answer. Maybe it's seasonal."
Paul stuttered and mumbled out an explanation about doves, stalling for time, but ultimately he gave up making excuses. Instead, he settled on the one answer that would satisfy any boy's curiosity, without needing to go into any further detail.
"It's a girl thing," dad explained, just as the game resumed.
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IN THE REC ROOM-- It was Saturday night, and the Walker men were doing what they do every Saturday night--watching the hockey game. Paul loves spending the time with his six-year-old son Jeffrey, who is a huge hockey fan. It was a great game, so far, and the two were completely absorbed in the sport's testosterone-enriched on-ice excitement.
Paul distracts his son Jeffrey from thoughts about feminine hygiene.
But then it happened.
During a break in the action, there came that one moment that all fathers dread, thirty seconds of intense fear that grabs men by the genitals and holds on like an action adventurer on a rope bridge. The network ran a feminine hygiene commercial.
Paul reached for the remote control, but he fumbled with the device, and its two triple 'A' batteries flew out and rolled underneath the couch. Paul struggled to get out of his usually-comfortable recliner, but he was held back by a half-full bottle of Molson Canadian between his legs and the bowl of barbecue potato chips in his lap. But it was already too late. The damage had been done.
"Dad? What's a 'tampon'?" asked Jeffrey innocently. Those four simple words sent an icy shiver down Paul's back and caused parts of his body to retract further than nature had intended. No man should ever be required to answer a question like this.
Paul looked around desperately for his wife Noreen, but he knew she was across the street playing Canasta with her neighbour. She would've known what to do.
"Why the hell would they air a woman's commercial during the game?" questioned Paul. "It's a frickin' hockey broadcast! There shouldn't be any chick stuff! I should only be seeing ads about sports cars, sporting goods, and power tools. I can answer questions about tools!"
Jeffrey was looking back curiously at his nervous father, patiently waiting for an answer.
"Uncomfortable silence I can handle," said Paul. "And I could probably field a question about sex. But even I don't know what the rationale is for the blue dye. If it was blue windshield-wiper fluid I could've told him the answer. Maybe it's seasonal."
Paul stuttered and mumbled out an explanation about doves, stalling for time, but ultimately he gave up making excuses. Instead, he settled on the one answer that would satisfy any boy's curiosity, without needing to go into any further detail.
"It's a girl thing," dad explained, just as the game resumed.
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