Orange crush

Orange crush. I heard “orange crush” and the first thing I thought of was a political or economic revolt of some sort in south east Asia.  I woke this morning, that is what I heard on BBC. Orange crush. I think of Apocalypse Now and the Vietnam War and such. Orange crush. I thought of the “refreshing (rather tasteless) drink” that comes to you from Atlanta and the Coca-cola company.  Orange crush. I kinda recalled my Middle School days, the bigger kids would tease tease me about being a redhead and stick me in those giant mats they used for gymnastics practice. But, the girls thought the red hair was cute. At times, I even got a kiss for my troubles…hmm…is that better, now? Now that was the real orange crush. Sending a 13-year-old kid with raging hormones back to the confines of…the confines of the locker room; working up that ol’ pitching arm and putting some “elbow grease” into the situation (though we all new it wasn’t elbow grease that was the motive). It was really awful when there wasn’t any toilet paper left! It was usually safe to sneak into the girls’ lockers for a sec. Actually, it was sorta “interesting” and it felt daring. I remember telling a friend about this adventure and quickly followed it up with, I was just kidding and said, but I did have to run into the girls’ for some TP one time–as though it was a big crime.  Orange crush, the squeeze. The deliverance! (At least from a redheads perspective, a natural redhead). 


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