Chapter 18
Flopsy Wopsy Was a Clown
While I was shopping at the Halloween store, a rather small and sad looking man struck up a conversation with me.
When I could no longer dodge his relentless questions about my marital status and had to finally admit that I was single, he pulled out a business card. He hesitated a moment before handing it to me and said, “Before I give you my number, I have to ask if you’re afraid of clowns.”
“Afraid of Clowns?” I echoed back to him.
“Yes, are you afraid of clowns?”
“No,” I said quietly backing away, “why do you ask?”
“Because,” he said with a genuine revelation-sharing grin, “I’m actually Flopsy Wopsy the Clown. I ask whether you have a fear of clowns because I have encountered...let’s just call them difficulties...in the past in dating scenarios due to my clown persona.” He quickly pulled out his cell phone, popped it open and proudly displayed a picture of himself in full clown regalia and face paint.
“Thank you for your number,” I said. I knew at that point I should turn and walk politely away leaving him with false hopes that I’d call. However I could not help myself; I just had to ask.
“Difficulties?” I asked. “What kind of difficulties with dates have you had due to your profession as a clown?”
“Well,” he said a bit sheepishly. “For many years I didn’t mention the fact that I was a clown to women when I was first getting to know them. I just felt like they couldn’t take me seriously.”
“Go figure that,” chuckled Shallow Lucy.
“Well I had been dating this one particular woman whom I had thought might be ‘the one.’ We’d been introduced by mutual friends and had been dating for a bit of time. After a fabulously romantic date we returned to my place for a night cap and things got quite amorous. We retired to the boudoir and I lit some candles. Things became very passionate when, in the candlelight, this woman noticed the shadow cast by my clown suit hanging on a coat rack. She froze and then actually started to tremble.”
I asked her what was the matter and, trembling, she pointed to the shadow. I explained that it was just my clown suit, and tried to get back to what we were doing. By this time a gentle breeze had wafted in through the open window and the candle flame was mimicking the breeze. Of course the clown suit shadow started to waiver and bend and actually seemed to be keeping time to the slow jazz song that was playing in the background. My date began to breathe heavily and I misinterpreted this as picking up where we had left off. Reading other’s intuitively has never been one of my strengths. I pulled her closer to me and whispered in her ear, ‘Don’t worry; it’s just the shadow of the clown dancing with the devil.’ She breathed even more heavily and I became more amorous still until I realized that she was staring with a look of shear terror at the shadows.
I asked if she was all right when I realized I had misread her labored breathing. I tried to reassure her that it was a joke. I tried to turn on the light so I could show her it was only a clown suit.
Before I could get the lights on, my date leapt from the bed. She sprinted from the bedroom picking up her clothes on the way to the door.
I scooped up her shoes and followed her out in my boxers trying to reason with her all the way.
I ran down the hall explaining that it was just a clown suit. I told her that I’m Flopsy Wopsy, a professional clown. I make children happy. I create happy memories and balloon animals. I begged her not to go.
She jumped in her car and I barely had time to toss her shoes through the car window before she slammed the door and squealed away into the night.”
“Oh, my,” I said, trying terribly hard not to laugh as this was clearly a difficult memory for Flopsy Wopsy.
“Oh, my, is right,” he said. “I spoke with the friends who had introduced us, and they found out later why she had reacted in this way. It turns out that this woman had returned to her dorm room one evening many years previous. Her roommate had apparently left the door unlocked, and during a particularly humiliating initiation a frat boy had sported full clown attire after losing at a drinking game and had gone in search of the perfect sorority girl. He had sat down on her bed to await her return. He passed out after a short time, rolled off the bed and onto the floor and eventually made his way under her bed.
When this woman finally made her way back to her room she found the clown’s red rubber nose on the floor. When she bent down to pick it up the guy regained consciousness and slithered out from under her bunk. She screamed which startled him and he screamed back which only made her scream louder. She headed for the door but he managed to grab her ankle so she couldn’t run for help. She then reached for her cell phone, but by this time he was on his feet and knocked it out of her hands. She started to scream but he pulled a hankie out of his pocket and stuffed it in her mouth. But the hankie just kept coming and coming and coming. It was relentless and seemed to have no end.
He managed to get enough of the hankie to stay in her mouth that the screaming stopped. He told her that he only needed to take a picture of them together to prove he’d been there.
He pulled out his own cell phone, smiled big for the camera, and snapped a picture. He then dove out her open window and ran to a rather small, yellow car in which several other clowns awaited, all looking rather anxious. The engine fired up and they were gone; all 15 of them.”
“You’re joking, right?” I said.
“Actually I’m dead serious,” said Flopsy Wopsy. “Apparently she attended therapy for years and when we met had still not conquered her coulrophobia. Now I ask anyone who might accompany me on a date whether my clown status would be of concern to them.”
“Coulrophobia?” I ask, still dumbfounded that I’d been engaged in this conversation.
“An intense fear of clowns and mimes,” he said. “It’s more common than I’d like to think. Although I don’t know why they grouped clowns with mimes. I mean mimes are just so...quiet and unassuming. Quite frankly I think they’re a bit creepy.”
“Whomever indeed,” I agreed.
“Anyway, since you’re not afraid of clowns and we can be assured that there would be no repeat of that terrible night, please take my business card. I’d like to take you out for dinner some time.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m quite flattered.”
“I really hope you’ll call,” he said.
“Have a good day,” I offered.
There’s nothing like hot, spiced apple cider to shake the creepy from your bones after meeting someone like Flopsy Wopsy around the Halloween season.
Lucy’s Warm-You-to-the-Bones Spiced Cider
1 gallon fresh apple cider
3 tablespoons cinnamon
3 cinnamon sticks
1 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1 teaspoon ground cloves
Hot Damn liquor (optional)
Combine all ingredients except for the Hot Damn in a crock pot. Turn crock pot on high until heated through. Keep the crock pot on low while serving. Add a shot of Hot Damn to individual servings if desired.
****