The Silence


“We will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.” – Martin Luther King Jr.

This could be spun any number of ways. I’m going to take the angle where a friend either points or stands idly by as my carcass is being dragged down the street by a bus. Make no mistake–I’ve tossed quite a few off the curb as well. MLK’s point is that friends who don’t have our backs suck worse than our enemies because our enemies are genuine and easily identifiable. Our friends may actually be enemies, waiting for us to drop our guards, giving them a chance to strike. Or, our friends may truly be friends, who are teasing us because they like us.

While in the desert last weekend playing baseball, a group of us decided to try a place known to attract, let’s say, a more mature crowd. Some of us have wider acceptable age ranges for mates; others are more selective (less desperate). When a mating option hopped past me, which happened to be within five years of my target demographic, I was elated and decided to strike. Yes, my friends sat silently and plotted. I danced with her (verbally), and her moves impressed me. Alas, once she went to powder, one of my friends broke his silence.

“You do realize she has a penis, right?”

“Shut up.”

“Dude, we’re in Palm Springs. That is a man.”

“Is not. You’re jealous.”

“Have you checked?”

“Oh, sure. I grabbed her like a six-pack and my thumb went unblocked.”

“Do you like apples?”


“I saw his neck. How do you like them Adam’s apples?”

“Nice. Why don’t you bring another Centrum Silver and tonic over to your woman?”

“She ain’t that old.”

“Oh, look, she’s fallen and she can’t get up … and run away from you. The time is ripe, Grandson.”

“At least she doesn’t have a dick. Hope you like bangin’ into balls.”

“Here she comes. Truce!”


Fortunately, there was no penis on that woman. I mean, I didn’t see evidence to the contrary, but there’s no way. Not that there’s anything wrong with having a penis. Well, actually, there are lots, but I’m not judging by anything but the misbehavior of my own. If you have an odd combination of genitalia, that’s fine. The person I was flirting with was FEEE-male–complete with butt, boobies, and baby hole. She did not have hairy knuckles.

Then, I wondered if her female friends were giving her the same business my friends gave me. Did they suggest that I might be female? Nah. My furry face saves me there. They probably said she had daddy issues for hanging around Blue Pill Phil.

“Isn’t it time to get him back to the home?”

“He’s not that old.”

“Hope you don’t mind changing adult diapers. Do you know what F. U. stands for?”

“Fuck you?”

“Sorry, that would be F. Y., genius. Try frequent urination. I bet he sleeps with a bedpan. Sexy.”

“Do you like apples?”


“Your date is waiting for you to pack his lunch … and don’t forget them apples.”

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About the author

Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.