YOU GOTTA STOP AND SMELL THE ROSES

By Rob Rosen

Mamma always said you gotta stop and smell the roses.

Mamma was a smart woman.  But, generally speaking, roses usually come with thorns.  Maybe what mamma should have said was that you gotta stop and smell the roses, but be careful of getting pricked.

I’ve been pricked one too many times.  And by the biggest pricks on the planet.  Relationships, by and large, have this tendency to backfire on me.  That is to say, things never seem to work out as they should, romantically speaking.  Least not for me, anyway.

So you see, it shouldn’t be such a shock that my initial reaction to being hit on by Mack was, um, icy at best.  The way I figured it, a surefire way to avoid the inevitable train wreck was to simply bypass the train altogether.  Take a car, go by foot, hop a plane, but under no circumstances should I board that little engine that could.  Though I had to hand it to him, the boy sure had that “I think I can” attitude.  Nonetheless, I stood my ground.  Experience had taught me well.  Well enough to turn my back on Mack.

Mamma also admonished me to treat others as I myself wanted to be treated.  I suppose she had a point there.  Still, it didn’t seem like all those other guys in my past had lived by that rule, so why on earth should I?  No, I told Mack to scram, beat it, skedaddle, hit the road Jack and don’t you come back no more.  Okay, maybe not in those exact words, but I did turn my back on him, even with mamma’s credo bouncing around in my addled brain.

But Mack was resolute.  I had the feeling that he rarely if ever heard the word no.  Or go.  Away, that is.  He continued with his pursuit.  I continued with my avoidance.

On his second attempt, I remembered something I had seen on television the night before.  I turned around and with my hand held up high, like a traffic guard’s, I announced, “Beeeeep…  No one’s home, please leave a message.”  Inwardly, I grinned at my cleverness, but Mack took advantage of my current stance and entwined his hand in my own.  Not a good situation to be in.  Not for me, anyway.  Mack seemed delighted at his own ingenuity.  I fairly melted in the face of his bravado.  Such big, strong fingers he had.  But I remembered that oft-repeated saying about how big hands usually meant big pricks.  And wasn’t that what I was trying to avoid?  Being pricked?

I disentangle my hand from his and returned my back to his front.  I felt safer that way.  Safer from Mack and safer from myself.  For hadn’t I been my own worst enemy in the past?  Wasn’t it I who managed to get myself tangled in these messes?  Mamma wasn’t around anymore to get me out of them.  Only her wisdom remained.  And that fell way short of providing me with adequate protection.  From both men and myself.  So, hard as it was, I stood there and feigned indifference towards Mack.  (Mack and his big hands.  Mack and his hot breathe breathing down on the nape of my neck.  Mack and his overpowering aura that I could still feel even without seeing it, or him, face to adorably stubbled face.)

Fine, okay.  I was weakening.  But I am only human, after all.  If you prick me, do I not bleed?  Ah, there was that prick thing again.  I stiffened at his resolve and maintained my distance.  He, unfortunately, did not.  His hands found there way onto my shoulders.

Damn.  Double Damn.  Now what was I suppose to do?  I closed my eyes and prayed to mamma for some guidance.  And then I remembered what she had said to me when I was a mere child of 15:  “Virginity is like a balloon, one prick and it's gone forever!”  Okay, I’m not saying I’m still a virgin or anything, but the resonance of her warning rang true.  And the word prick echoed repeatedly in my head.  Prick, prick, prick.

Mamma also told me that flies spread disease, so keep mine closed.  I was starting to think that mamma didn’t want me to have any fun at all.  Maybe mamma wasn’t right about everything.  And maybe, opposed to what they say, not all men are equal.  Or, at least, not all of them are pricks.  And maybe, just maybe, Mack was that needle in the haystack that I had been so desperately searching for.  Maybe I was putting to much credence into what mamma had said.  Mamma said a lot of crap, too.  Mamma once told me that the bathtub was invented in 1850 and the telephone was invented in 1875.  This might not seem like much, but if you had lived back then, you could have sat in the bathtub for 25 years without being bothered by the phone.  What was I supposed to glean from that?

In any case, Mack wasn’t going away.  So I decided on another approach.  Mamma, bless her heart, was the sweetest, kindest person I know.  But, despite all her good advice, she did spend her last years on this planet sadly solo.  I’d be damned if I was gonna follow in her size seven pumps.  Instead, I went with some medical advice I had once heard:  “Be who you are and say what you feel:  because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.”  Dr. Suess said that.  And how can you go wrong with him?

So I turned around and faced my fears.  That is to say, Mack.  And he looked at me with his soulful, blue eyes and a wondrous grin and waited for what I had to say; which wasn’t much.  I never did have the gift for gab like mamma did.  Besides, brevity is the soul of wit.  (Thank you Willie S.)

I simply said, in not so many words, that the male of the species had been nothing but trouble for me and that if he planned on hurting me, he might as well turn around and leave the way he came and never darken my doorstep again.

Well, he sure did look surprised at my honesty, but, thank goodness, he wasn’t hightailing out that door.  No, he stood there for a second, just alookin’ and agrinnin’, and then he said the wisest words I’d ever heard before or since.  Even mamma had never told me anything that gosh darn clever before.

He said,  “One day, your life will flash in front of your eyes...  Make it worth watching.”

Goodbye mamma.

I think I’ll take it from here from now on.