Why It's Hard to Date A Clown

A long time ago,  in  a distant galaxy far, far away – I used to date.  Many of these dates are nothing but faded memories and blurs of boring.  Normal dates usually followed the same cookie-cutter pattern –food, movie, makeout, home. 

Then…  one day…. I dated a clown… and everything changed.

*Actual picture of me and the clown*

Before I dated a clown, my normal preparations for a date included showering, putting on makeup, and ensuring fresh breath.   Preparations for dating a clown included, learning to juggle, learning to ride a unicycle, and various magic tricks.   Oh, I must mention, the clown eventually morphed into a magician… so my duties as a girlfriend also morphed.

I knew he really like me when he put me in charge of the magic bird, Clyde.   And, then as our relationship progressed, I was cut in half, my head was put in a box penetrated by swords, and I knew we were very serious when he asked me to eat fire.  (Eating fire is not a euphemism for something sexual.. it actually means he wanted me to put a flaming torch in my mouth.)  Stop thinking dirty thoughts.

My other friends were going to the movies, or the beach, or football games.  I was eating fire.  Oh the irony…

I have to tell you, eating fire is not as easy as you would imagine.  Fire is hot.  And it burns.  And, at the time, I was only 16 years old, and I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life with burnt-up lips.    I wasn’t sure this relationship would last forever, and these lips may need to be put to good use on someone else….

One day, my mom was at the grocery store and the clown/magician came over for our fire-eating practice.  He lit the torches, and we were simply trying to desensitize my face to hot burning flames.  The living room was right at the entrance of the door to the house.  Within 5 minutes, my mom walks in the door with big brown grocery sacks in her arms. 

Picture this scene:  I am sitting on our living room couch with my head tilted up and my mouth wide open, clown/magician boyfriend is standing in front of me with a flaming torch about 2 inches from my mouth.  (Once again – this is not a euphemism – this is all LITERAL).   My mom walks through the entrance, pauses, takes one step back, looks at us… and without missing a beat says:

“DON’T EAT FIRE IN MY LIVING ROOM.”

I’m sure these words – this VERY sentence – had never been uttered by another human being ever before.  However, that sentence HAS echoed in my head for the last 27 years.  "Don't eat fire in the living room."  Good advice.

Eventually, the clown/magician and I broke up.  However, we’ve remained close friends for 27 years…..   and every now and then – when I’m in the produce section of Publix, I feel the urge to juggle the oranges… 

                                             *Actual picture taken a few weeks ago *