To pick up girls from the country, specifically from deep in the heart of Texas, was to experience something we could hardly believe. It was our good fortune to run into three of the wildest girls we had ever met, and they said they needed a ride to school. That suited us three boys just fine.
They were “Barrow Butt,” “Frog Tit,” and… How in the world have I forgotten the name the third girl gave herself? (But it would be too late to go back to that small town to look her up and find out, even assuming now she’s still alive and has grandchildren.) The town was rural; the three of us were from the city (even then only bridges separated Irving from Dallas, so technically speaking we were city boys). The two girls who piled into the back seat of my blue convertible (1953 Chevy) with my two best buddies were wilder than the girl I got stuck with in the front seat; she wouldn’t French-kiss me. Cursin’…derived from who knew where, smokin’…a cigar without coughin’…fed our unrealistic expectations. (I don’t know who produced the cigar; I just know us boys didn’t.) These girls were having a great time at their own expense. Our imaginations weren’t needed with them; to be perfectly honest they were the ones who suggested we go skinn’-dippin’. Sure male hormones in great quantities (stimulated by more than a suggestion or two. If you call yourself “Frog Tit,” you can imagine) played a part in our jumping on the idea of getting naked with these tomatoes (remember this was way before the days of social correctness.) And to go on our great adventure (if only a hundred miles or so) to see what we could see and find three nasty girls was a dream too good to be true. And it was too good to be true. The rest of the story involved a run-in with the local sheriff.
It is from incidents like this one (from my youth and settings I can recall) that I can draw on for future plays and stories, bits and pieces, here and there. I have tried to use Barrow Butt and Frog Tit several times, but so far, I haven’t been able to fit them in anywhere. And maybe that’s a good thing. Or maybe they deserve their own story. We’ll see. Randy Ford