Kissing Cousins

I have a deep, dark secret. When I was younger, I had a huge crush on two of my male cousins. THERE! I said it! (shameful weeping, knashing of teeth, calling therapist for emergency appointment) Now that I've totally horrified everyone, let me try and defend my sick, sick self for a moment.

I blame this shameful secret on having grown up in Arkansas. We all know I'm one savage cry of "WOOO PIG SUEY" away from achieving Raging Hillbilly status. It was only a matter of time before I would shun proper footware and daydream of marrying blood relatives and producing-four fingered children. Also conspiring against me were some kind of freak genetic characteristics that made two of my cousins, like, the most beautiful men I've ever seen. I mean, what the hell? Care to share that gene with the rest of the family asshole? No, go ahead and take all the hotness for yourself and leave all the little cousins to suffer giant nostrils and insufficient eyelashes.

I had the "little girl who wants to marry her daddy" kind of crushes, not the "XXX Best of Hustler" kind of crushes. Thank god. The furthest my unfortunate feelings progressed was attempting to look pretty (difficult with the leftover crappy genes) when I knew I would be seeing them and trying not to say anything which might reveal the true, inner moron that I was. Ok, am. It was fortunate for me (and my therapist) that both cousins grew up in states where incest wasn't as tolerable; that is, they were far, far away from the perils of the south and living in places that prosecute that type of behavior. Also they wore shoes. They did not return my warm-fuzzy feelings. In fact, I'm pretty sure I was a pain in their asses. However, it is because of their wholesome morals that I am writing this humiliating post about my sick, sick sickness on a generally happy-go-lucky blog instead of burning myself with cigarettes and going backstage to "meet" Marilyn Manson. I look terrible in goth, the paleness draws attention to my nose.

I will go a step further and admit that since one of the hot cousins isn't related by blood, I spent a lot of time wondering if that scenario - involving him and I and riding off into the distance on a white horse, or maybe a pony - could happen for me one day. Eventually I realized that there were plenty of other men out in the world that were also hot and were not already a member of my family. I let the dream die. Kissing cousins might sound super cute, but in reality it's creepy. And illegal.

Since then, I've come to know a girl (woman? hoe bag?) who actually did marry a second cousin. Which repulsed me until I remembered my hot cousin crushes, upon which I might have taken a few Xanax to forget that I was once a dirty bird. Even now, I'm horrified to admit that both cousins continue their lifelong good-looking-ness. It's really pretty shallow of them. How dare they refuse to let their looks wilt over time! How dare they walk around with those those glittering eyes and straight, white smiles! How dare they have excellent taste in music!

If you'll excuse me, I am going to scrub my brain with a Brillo pad.