Erma Bombeck Writing Competition - Winners
2007
Erma Bombeck Writing Competition
Honorable Mention
Humor - Global
Brian Cormier
Moncton, New Brunswick, Canada
"The Kotex Kid Strikes Again!"
| Zwoot zwoot zwoot zwoot zwoot. That's the sound of my chubby, corduroy-clad inner thighs rubbing together on one of my many trips to the store when I was a kid to buy Kotex for my mother. A Twinkie was my usual tip. I still remember the smiles from the cashiers as they heard the familiar "zwoot zwoot zwoot" as I entered the store. I would peer over the conveyor belt and matter-of-factly plunk down my big purple box of Kotex and my beloved Twinkie. Maybe the box just seemed big because these weren't the discrete, NASA-engineered pads sold today. the ultra-thin ones with wings and built-in Internet connection. No, these were inhumanely large mattress-like contraptions held in place by a series of garter belts and more than likely a prayer or two. One day, my mother didn't have enough money for my "tip", so the Twinkie was not allowed on a particular trip. If I was putting my neighborhood reputation on the line for a box of Kotex, however, there'd better be a Twinkie involved. I would not be denied. At the store, I defiantly hid a Twinkie in my jacket and zwoot zwoot zwooted my way home. I handed over the Kotex then went to my room and ate half my stolen loot until my conscience kicked in and I burst into sugary tears. I admitted my crime to my mother who promptly sent me back to the scene of the crime to turn myself in. Zwoot sob zwoot sob zwoot sob. Evidently, the cashier thought it was adorable seeing guilt-ridden, chubby Kotex Boy crying and holding up his half-eaten Twinkie, which I just assumed would be immediately put back on the rack for the next zwooter who came along. Taking pity on me, the cashier allowed me to finish the treat. I finished the tear-soaked cake and was sternly told not to steal again - well, as sternly as she could muster through her involuntary chuckles. These days, whenever I pass a father, husband or boyfriend browsing the feminine hygiene aisle with glazed-over eyes, I remember the old days. I look at them. Our eyes meet. I give them an oh-man-I-feel-for-you look. Their eyes tear up. "For the love of all that is holy, help me!" they seem to plead silently. I would send a telepathic message. "Be strong, my friend. Be strong! There is a better tomorrow." For a moment, we'd be at one with the universe until they would come out of their daze and keep shopping through the mind-boggling array of choices available today. And then, just like clockwork, I would get that familiar craving for a Twinkie. |