E R R A T A

BY GERRY HASLET


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Though I tell friends that I am 6'2", I am most certainly no more than 6'1."

When I said that I thought it would be 'difficult, but not impossible' to replace the faucet in the bathroom without knowing where the shut-off valves were, I may have indeed been correct, but did not allow for the practical effects of difficult constituting an impossibility.

I have never rocked the house.

These pants are blue, not grey.

The Immaculate Conception refers to the conception of Mary, mother of Jesus, not her son, as is commonly mistaken. Prior to the Crucifixion of Christ, all humans were born with Original Sin, the result of the expulsion from Eden of Adam and Eve. In order for Mary to bear Christ free of Original Sin, she herself needed to be free from it. Why Christ, conceived without intercourse (as Joseph was a bearer of Original Sin- bummer huh? Father of the Savior and you are denied the Kingdom of God), couldn't have been bestowed likewise confuses me too.

Butter should not be applied to a burn, regardless of what your mother says.

My knowledge of shoe construction is limited, the uppers calling to mind the piece covering the top of your foot from the ankle to the toe. So this part, white, trimmed in brown, with most of the rest the same rich chocolately color. On each upper was embroidered with a football helmet bearing the logo of my favorite professional team. The were made of suede, or some suede-like material. This makes me think they were Hush Puppies. They were definitely slippers, what with soles that were plasticized rubber or rubberized plastic. The design was very much of that of loafer. Usually I think of slippers as rounded, or in some way a perversion of what might be called the traditional shoe form. They were special in some way; I don't know if they were a birthday gift, or for some other anticipated event. The especial quality makes me think there were simply an item I desired, that I found important enough to request them, or request them enough to have my mother make the effort to buy them for me. I'm not sure how much stuff I actually got while growing up. My impression is that is less often than not. Or that I only remember the times when something unfortunate resulted. I remember that I got my pants from my cousin; that I got 'new' clothes for school. There was always a discomfort about the new clothes. I don't really know if they were ugly or tacky or not as nice as those of children in my class. A review of school photos would certainly indicate at least the tacky, but this would probably be true of anyone then. There is no satisfying sense associated with clothes that I owned. I grew quickly, and it always seemed that my clothes were ill fitting. So it was a warmish day, grey, or so as I remember the end more. And maybe they were a present because I remember opening the box, green with the white dog logo. This might mean they were mailed, but we didn't do much mail order stuff. I put them on immediately. Wore them around, proud, new shoes, team pride and so on. At some point I went outside, what with the rubberized soles, stiff sides, the shoe-ness. No rocks or sticks punctured, and I was careful to remember that they were not in fact shoes, that venturing outside need be a tentative affair, trips to the garage to fetch my father, etc. After that, who knows; a friend came over and maybe I left them on to impress them, maybe I was caught up in the indirection of youth, or I just wasn't thinking. A water fight of ensued, or it rained; I got wet, somehow. And then, grey, sundown, my friend went home. I trudged up the slight incline of my driveway, I looked down. My brand new slippers, soiled, ruined beyond repair. I had been through mud, grass, and the gravel of our still unpaved driveway. During one of my many laps around our house, I thought that I should stop, change into shoes, but in the manic excitement of the game, I knew that it would end when I went to get shoes, and maybe I realized that even at that point, the slippers would too. Maybe I was rebelling at the idea that the new and rare things should be kept precious, carefully tended to. Or that I could ruin my new things with aplomb, as I suspected those wealthier than I did. Or that I didn't realize. Who knows? At the end of the day, I was without my cherished new footwear, I had ruined, didn't appreciate another gift, was the failure son. Walking up the drive, maybe I thought of all of them; I was just sad, sad at all these disappointments.

That never happened.

A various points in my life I have shaved working from the bottom up and the top down, and sometimes both in alternating strokes. The duration of any particular style is not something I clearly remember, so I know I was wrong, but just not when, or for how long.

I did do it.



OTHER McSWEENEY'S STORIES
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Recently, at the Biennial by Victor Maskell
You Can Go Home Again by Johann Livelb
The McSweeney's Allegory Contest Results
A Note on the Type by Benjamin S. White



 



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