Bath Time (Non Fiction, Rough Draft)


(Update: If you want to read my brother’s version, here is the link~!)


There was a time, not too far in the past, but distant enough that the memories around it have begun to fade, which will remain forever seared in my mind.

I was young, probably only 7 at the time; my memory for dates and ages has always been poor, and lived on a farm in eastern Oregon. My younger brother and I were almost inseparable, spending our days and nights in close proximity, and though I tortured him relentlessly he was the only true family member I had at the time. We explored the farm on which we lived together, made toys from trash together, and generally cause my mother endless headaches together.

We also, not coincidently, bathed together, as young children often do. I think our mother encouraged it to save water, though I wonder at how efficiently that played out, considering the splashing and wave making that often accompanied these baths. Often, we would bring toys with us as well, some intended for watery use, and some not. Most of them were harmless, and I remember them now only as wet plastic or matted bits of wet cloth. Yet, there is one toy that stands out in my mind, and which I remember distinctively.

Now this was a time before plastic was recognized to be a member of the Axis of Evil (Iran, Iraq, North Korea, Plastic, and Al Gore), and a time in which it was used frequently in a variety of products. One such use was in ‘Happy Meal’ packaging, as McDonalds found new and creative ways to stir screaming children everywhere into action. In this case, it was a series of boat-designed boxes, which could be used as water toys once the nutritious and delicious food was removed and presumably consumed. The consumption part of that was sometimes forsaken due to the massive appeal of the toys, which bothered neither child nor corporate entity, but which caused mothers everywhere no end to their annoyance.

 At any rate, my brother and I, thru some stroke of fortune, had acquired two of these wonderful plastic boats. They split down the middle so that you could remove the aforementioned food, but sealed tightly shut to keep water out during naval operations. This was the normal mode of use for these boats, but on this particular evening of bath time amusement, my brother had an alternate idea, one which can only be described as brilliant. Evil might also be an acceptable term, but more on that in a moment. Lifting the boat from the water, my brother popped the boat open, and then placed it in the water once more, driving the boat, now open like a gapping maw, in my direction…

Now, I’ll pause here to say that my brothers actions at this point may have been partially out of ignorance, but also perhaps out of malice. For, as I mentioned, though we were very close as brothers, I was more than willing to be a traditional big brother; which is to say, mean. Moreover, we went everywhere together, and on more than one occasion, while attempting to use the toilet at the same time, I had , entirely by accident, aimed too high and ‘shot’ my brother on the opposite side. Now, I swear that was never intentional, but it might explain some of ensuing actions.

… and closed the boat squarely, capturing my poor, innocent genitalia between the ridged plastic seal. Had he been less vigorous, it might have simply snapped and released, but he was apparently determined in his action, closing the boat tightly enough that it latched shut. Caught off guard, I dropped my own boat, mouth opening in a blood curdling scream. I fully suspect that my mother believed I would die at any moment, judging by the speed at which she arrived.  If you had asked me at the time, I likely would have replied that yes, I was about to die at any moment. Or, failing that, ask someone to kill me and put me out of my misery.

But, neither was the case, and my mother quickly freed my poor member from the grasp of McDonald’s evil contraption. No permanent damage was done, but the emotional scaring is clear; to this day, I refuse to take a bath with my younger brother.



(For those who want to hear the other half of this story, check back tommorow, and I’ll have a link for you! My brother is writing the story as well, without coordinating with me! So, it should be interesting to see how he lies… er… relates… the story!)


~ by brokenrazor on August 7, 2008.

3 Responses to “Bath Time (Non Fiction, Rough Draft)”

  1. Okay –

    1. I can’t wait to read the “real” story your brother posts tomorrow.

    Things I like:
    the memory of the matted bits of wet cloth; the description of the happy meal box; the Axis of Evil reference; your close relationship with your brother; for some reason, I like the *pause* in the middle of the story – you could use more of those to expand your story into a true personal narrative;

    ~This is really good and pretty funny. For some reason that I can’t put my finger on, I know the end before it begins. What I think you could do is use a little less foreshadowing. Especially in this day and age, you have the opportunity to create the illusion that is about conservation (the shared bath or plastic) or a failed presidency (the Axis of Evil) or even about filial relationships. Then, to have it suddenly turn on the reader and it’s actually about how you got, your, uhhhh….how did you put it, your *genitalia* snapped in a plastic boat. Nice. Also, considering your other writing, I think you can feel safe calling it your dick, or whatever. But not genitalia. Please.

  2. […] “See my brother’s web blog to see his side of this tale, at ” […]

  3. Ok, you never shared this story with me…. I’m a little hurt that you would leave me in the dark regarding such an….. event! Lol! BTW, I will be reading Kevs version…. I like the title already! Thanks boys, I really needed the laugh 🙂

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: