My Ding-a-ling-a-ling

Just like Chuck Berry suggests in his only number 1 hit song, My Ding-a-ling, Chuck Berry covered in the 70’s, we learn new uses for things as we grow up, including your ding-a-ling. It used to be something that you would hold onto when you knew you had to pee really bad, but now you use it, maybe not as often as you would like, for other things. If you don’t know the song, do yourself a favor and look it up. Dave Bartholomew was a lyrical genius with this one.

Even as simple as keys. As a baby, keys are the jingly things your mom might hand you to distract you while she watches Days of Our Lives. Now, keys are the thing you lose every morning as you burn your mouth on your coffee while you’re 20 minutes late for work.

Picture this, it’s five-thirty AM and you’re waking up from a one night stand. You’re still living with your parents at 27 because where the fuck else would you live after you got put in the hole for 70K in student loans from this fucked up system. You try to look for your phone, quietly trying not to wake her up because you know you really don’t want to talk to her, whether you know it was a mistake, they’re not exactly as good-looking as you may have thought in your drunken stupor, or maybe you just don’t like talking to people.

As you find your phone you see what time it is and you think to yourself, “fuck, this wasn’t worth the headache.” You’re in your basement and you have to sneak her out of your house before your dad wakes up and especially before your mom wakes up. You try to wake sleeping beauty, by doing repetitive roll-a-rounds but not actually poking this person and just saying, “yo, get the fuck out before I have to deal with my mom slamming cabinets shut all day.” You get her up the stairs and you’re trying not to make a big deal about keeping quiet but you’re tip toeing up the rickety wooden steps yourself so she gets the point.

You bring your date to the front door and you have an Uber waiting for her outside in the cul-de-sac. You sort of low talk, whisper a goodbye and she opens the glass door and walks toward the car. As you watch her walk across the dead end to the Uber, it hits you, she’s walking right from second base to third base where you used to play kickball in the street. Right where you said your first curse word at your friend for pegging you in the face with a rubber ball too hard. The exact spot that you and your friends came up with your first business idea.

She’s walking across the lawn your dad taught you how to build a snow man on. Right across the lawn your dad taught you how to mow and weed wack on. The lawn that you played on too much and your dad got mad that it looked like shit.

Now, I got one friend who owns a house calling me and telling me that he hates that when he mows his lawn. “It comes out looking like shit anyway so what’s the point of doing it yourself,” he says. This is the same guy that used to help me throw parties in my parents backyard that would ruin the grass for the rest of the summer.

Your parents tell you that one day you’ll care about all of these things but hindsight is 20/20. When you’re fourteen you don’t realize that one day you’ll actually care about how much clutter is on the dining room table, but you double that age and it might drive you fucking insane for the dining room table to look like the junk drawer. There might be some people who never feel the need to care about things like this, but those are the people that are either, A, rich enough to hire someone to clean for them, or B, poor enough to think that one day when they are rich, they’ll hire someone to clean for them.

From keys to your ding-a-ling what you care about in life definitely changes. Life goes full circle people, don’t forget that. Just always remember to hold onto your ding-a-ling.

Published by Your Cousin Vinny

I'm just a guy, who really is trying to figure out what the move is.

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