retards

Yeah, yeah...I know that the term retard is politically incorrect and rude and whatever but if you have a stick up your butt about that kind of stuff, you probably shouldn't be reading my blog in the first place.

Along with men that are determined to show me their junk, retards are also drawn to me for some reason.

My first retard was Scotty. He lived two houses away from me and was 12 years older than me. Scotty seemed nice and harmless at first. I was about 9 and he was 21 but he didn't seem to think age mattered when it came to love. He would "write" me love notes that were actually just scribbles. He would set up his keyboard outside my bedroom window and serenade me at all hours. Most of the things Scotty did were pretty innocuous and I had no problems with him until...he proposed. He came over to the house and wanted to talk to my parents. He sat me down on the couch and told my parents that he wanted to marry me. He kissed the top of my head as he asked their permission. This may sound sweet to you but to me things were starting to get a little bit creepy. My parents gently explained that I was only 9 years old and that I wouldn't be of marriageable age for at least another ten years. I was relieved...not that I thought my parents would marry me to a retard 12 years older than me when I was 9 years old, I just thought maybe that would put an end to some of his efforts at wooing that were starting to get old. That didn't happen. Instead, Scotty got stealthy. One morning I woke up and Scotty was standing over my bed, watching me sleep. After that my parents finally started locking the doors at night.
Around this time, a couple of my dolls went missing. When we found them, they had holes in the parts of them where the vagina would be, if dolls sported privates. This was far more upsetting to me than all of the other stuff combined. I had a pretty good idea why those holes were there and what had happened to my dolls and I wasn't having any more of this business. The next time Scotty came over I'm afraid I wasn't very nice to him. I told him that I never wanted to see him again and that he needed to leave me alone. I have a feeling my mom may have talked to his mom about keeping him on a shorter leash because he never bothered me, or my dolls, again.

My next encounters took place quickly and without warning.

When I was in grade school there was a girl with Downs Syndrome that I was friendly to. One day on the playground she took my hand and put it down her shirt. I'm not sure what her motive was but I took my hand away and kept my distance after that.

In middle school there was a retard named Willy. I know that these are God's special children and that I am being rude by calling them retards. If I knew specifically what was wrong with Willy, other than being a lecherous retard with an unfortunate name, I would refer to him by his own particular brand of retardedness. I don't know what was wrong with him, other than that he liked to put his hands up girls' skirts and down the front of their shirts. Do I need to go on or do you see where I'm going with this?

My most surprising retard encounter came at the Logan Library. By this time I had learned to keep a respectful distance from retards but sometimes that isn't enough. I was entering the building that houses the library while a group of tards was walking out. I smiled politely at a very large one and was subsequently smacked in the face, twice, very quickly. That retard had some impressive reflexes. And he was incredibly strong. His handler apologized and I smiled and said that it was ok and moved quickly along the hall and into the library. This is when I knew for sure that retards and I just shouldn't have anything to do with each other. If a friendly smile could unleash the anger of the biggest retard I had ever seen, I needed to stay as far away from them as possible.

Staying away from retarded people is more difficult than you might think. They're everywhere. A few days after the incident at the library my sister and I were shopping at Michael's craft store when I noticed there was someone following me. It was a retarded woman that normally wouldn't have given me any cause for concern but my recent smack down by retard and the fact that she was following me everywhere I went gave me the creeps. I started to freak out and asked my sister if we could please leave.

I have learned to give all retards, no matter how harmless looking, a wide berth. I try not to be prejudice but really, it seems, they are the ones that have it out for me. Some people are scared of spiders or snakes or the dark. My one and only fear is a retard.