If ever a power existed with the potential to halt Napoleon from conquering western Europe -- a kryptonite that could stun Superman from ever flying again, a sensation that could cripple the minds of this world's Albert Einsteins or Stephen Hawkingses, ultimately giving women the final trump card over men and our innate desire for domination -- it would be the power of the female persuasion.
Looking back at the memories of my existence up to this current moment, I cannot recall a single instance more clear or perfect in its entirety than the half-second of lost childhood innocence in which Sherry Frazier puckered her lips to my cheek. From that moment on, I was put under the spell -- the spell that all members from the female persuasion know they possess but will never acknowledge. The spell that turns men from masters to puppies, waiting for a scrap of food to fall from the table. The spell that changed my life.
The next morning when I woke up I didn't think about baseball cards or Super Mario Brothers; I thought about the girl next door who wore pigtails and a pair of worn-out overalls. The stutter, the dry mouth, the insertion of the stumbling "uh" into every sentence -- these all became new additions to my retarded repertoire of speech skills used when in the presence of these newfound walking wonders.
Even now, 15 years later, I find myself mesmerized by the tools with which women are equipped. Of course, time has allowed me to smooth out some of the rough edges but, even still, without noticing, I will become enraptured by the beauty of a lady's eyes and the only words I can force out are, "I, umm ... well, you see ... OK, uh ... geez ... I mean ... you're pretty."
Sometimes I wonder if females realize this power they possess over men. Sure, we have muscles, big guns and the ability to grow facial hair, but the girl's unseen force dominates all of that. I read a play last year called "Lysistrata" in which the women of a country stopped war by refusing to sleep with their husbands until peace was resolved. Obviously, the play was just fictional, but if something like that were to happen today -- sexual repression by women to serve a higher cause -- let me be the first to say that men would eventually drop their guns, so they could once again drop their pants. If that's not proof that women have the upper hand, I don't know what is.
The cold, hard truth that I now realize is that the spell I was put under with that fateful kiss 15 years ago is a spell that will never die. Never again will I be able to hear a female's voice and maintain my train of thought or see a woman walk past me on the street and not have the urge to turn around once she's past. In the world we live in today with the natural laws that have been set in place by a higher power, there are only a few things that I am truly sure of. These are: As long as cats and dogs live under one roof, they will fight; as long as green polka pants exist, wrinkled golfers in Florida will adorn their pasty, white legs with them; and as long as girls with black skirts and red lipstick walk this earth, dumbfounded boys will follow.
Write to Travis at tjabels@bsu.edu
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