T.P.H.S.

I liked the high school I went to way back in the 1960's. It was relatively new, and modern, and best of all I knew most of the kids from grade school. One thing that my nephews and nieces who have gone there since might find odd, is that there were only two black students in the whole school back then. One of them was a boy who rode the short bus, and the other one was an attractive girl whose name I cannot remember. You would think I could remember her name because she was responsible for one of my more embarrassing moments in that school. One day while sitting in the school library this girl and I were holding hands across the table, and talking. Suddenly she loudly blurted out, "Your hands are soft as a baby's ass. Don't you ever do any work?"
Of course I worked. I had a part time job in a pizza joint after school, and besides that I did chores around the house. But she was right, I had soft hands. I don't know why, but it runs in the family. We have soft skin.

What got me thinking about this girl Monday afternoon, was Mark. Mark wasn't even in the house, but he had me working. I had been out in the yard tending his tomato patch earlier, and I had cleaned up the mess he made in the kitchen that morning. It was when I was on my hands and knees, scrubbing his bathroom floor with a sponge and a can of Comet, that I flashed on that black girl back in high school. Oh if she could see me now, scrubbing, weeding, and washing dishes. She would probably remark on how soft my hands have stayed all these years. It must be the lotion.