These past three weeks, Corb's been assigned to draw a nude female model for one of his architecture classes. It's the closest he's been to a actual vagina in 26 years on this planet.
Even at birth, he was the product of a C-section.
"So, what's it like?" I ask, after each class, peppering him with questions. "Does it get you excited and squirmy inside? Is it changing you? Do you have an urge to jump over and join the other side?"
"I have an urge to purge," he replied. "She's old! Around 57, I'd say. And her boobs are really saggy. One of her nipples exploded inwards. And she doesn't really..." He wrinkled his nose. "Trim."
Well, I had learned that most nude models aren't exactly swimsuit models. That's sort of the point, actually. My friend Leslie told me that her grandmother was a nude model, in her later years.
"She liked the fifty dollars she'd get for each job," she told me. "Plus, she figured no man was ever going to see that side of her ever again, unless she took some drastic action."
Last week, the professor stepped out of the class, and the students started asking their nude model questions. "Why do you do this?" asked the skaterboy with super hairy legs.
"What do you do in real life?" asked Hektor, the only one older than Corb in the class.
Turns out, she's brilliant. Has a PhD from Harvard, has attained several degrees. She's never really worked at a full time job. Gets bored too easily for that.
I could see that being a pretty nice life.
"How do you pick your models?" was the question this week.
"Oh, I just have a regular team that I work with," said the professor of the class, putting down his brush. "Although there was one time that my assigned model didn't show up. I was pretty upset about it, but then I realized that there was a party going on outside the classroom, and maybe I could get one of the students to model. I asked all the girls, but they wouldn't, but one girl said, 'Oh, Ed might.' Ed was this big kid, really wasted that night. Drunk on beer and scotch. Sure enough, he agreed to do it."
"A few weeks later, he came to me, with a check in his hand, from the school. 'Did I do some modeling for you recently?' he asked, looking at me, totally confused. Didn't remember a thing!"
Anyway, Corb showed me his drawings from class. He's actually pretty good! I think he has a future in vaginas.
"Do you think they deliberately made these nachos like this, because we're getting close to Halloween?" I asked Corb, as we sat down to an especially nutricious meal of nachos and buffalo wings at our favorite tavern. Hey, we're still guys, after all.
"Why do you ask that?"
"Well, look at them. The colors are all so Halloweeny. Orange and red and black. They're scary!"
Corb shook his head, smiling. "They're just plain nachos, Ted. Plain, boring nachos."
I shook my head right back at him. "Nope! They're haunted nachos. I just know it!"
Corb reached out and grabbed a crisp one, covered in cheese and onions. "Haunted nachos, eh?"
"And your buffalo wings are haunted, too! They're actually buffalo things! With boo cheese sauce."
Corb lowered his head and continued eating. I took the opportunity to grab a celery stick and write in the sauce that surrounded his wings.
"Oh my God!" I cried out. "Look what the spirits are saying to us! They've written, 'Die!' 'Hell!'"
Corb looked down at the plate in front of him. Then he looked up at me, trying not to laugh. Then he look down at the plate again, and grabbed a celery stick.
"Oh my God, Ted, look it, the spirits are at it again! Only, they didn't mean to write 'Die' and 'Hell'! They actually meant to write 'Pie' and 'He'll want some!' They're advertising ghosts, Ted. Advertising ghosts!"
Oooooh, these are clever spirits. So, we had some pie.
This morning, in the midst of a sound sleep, I was tapped awake by Corb, who was getting ready for work. He had just gotten out of the bathroom. "Those nachos really were scary," he whispered.
PLEASE NOTE: Image is not mine...it was found on the internet. It's an oil painting by the artist Fernando Botero, found at www.oceansbridge.com.