Misheard lyrics, oh how I love them. I could waste hours on the Kissthisguy website.
And the explanations from the people doing the mishearing make the lyrics even funnier: “I thought it was a song about Michael Jackson and I asked a friend if he’d heard this song. He had me recite the lyrics. He laughed at me for days.”
I laughed at him for days, too. In context, “addicted to love” sounds exactly like “a dick with a glove.” It makes perfect sense … kind of like how my misheard lyric made perfect sense, only my misheard lyric wasn’t exactly a misheard lyric. Mine was more of a Misunderstood Sexual Saying, which would have been fine, if only I’d left it in the display case at Spencer’s Gifts. But I didn’t. I took it home, pinned it to my “Welcome Campers” staff shirt, and wore it on opening day while greeting all the parents.
In my defense, I didn’t know anything about sexual sayings. I went to a small Christian school, was saving myself for marriage, and anything related to sex went completely over my head.
Also in my defense, I’d actually been a really good counselor for my first 4 weeks on the job. Everyone loved me, and if you weren’t in my group, you wished you were. But after the first 4 weeks, the shine was wearing off. Being a counselor was hard work, and I was not looking forward to the start of the second 4-week session, when a fresh new infusion of little girls would show up at the gates, snapping their gum and waiting to be entertained.
Instead of showing up at the gates, what I wanted them to do was stand on the side of the road and point their little butts to the sky … so I could drive by in my car and run them over. THAT is the statement I thought I was making with my Spencer’s button, except my Spencer’s button said it in 4 little words. The message was a bit subtle, but what else could those 4 little words have possibly meant? I didn’t really want to run campers over with my car; it was just a metaphor. All it meant, in context, was that campers were a pain in the neck. I was sure the parents would get it, and that they’d be delighted that their daughters were in the hands of someone with such a scintillating, sarcastic sense of humor.
“I feel the same way too,” I pictured one of the camper’s dads mock-whispering to me in a wink-wink-nudge-nudge kind of way, as he slipped me a $100 tip. “Why else do you think we’re sending her away to a 4-week camp?!”
To be clear, this was not some rinky-dink run-of-the-mill camp where you slept in log cabins, ate beans out of a can, and expected all of the counselors to be stoners. This was an expensive summer horseback riding camp for preppy little rich girls, held on the campus of an expensive all-girl’s boarding school. Educated, rich, entitled people spent a lot of money to send their children to this camp, and they expected the counselors to be intelligent, responsible, and respectable.
Therefore, I can’t say that any of them were all that thrilled that morning when they rolled up in their fancy cars and saw me standing there, welcoming them in with a big “BEND OVER, I’LL DRIVE” button pinned to my chest.
It’s a good thing that this happened before everyone had cell phones, or I probably would’ve ended up as the Human Interest segment on the nightly news, with an entire nation of people sitting on their couches shaking their heads at my picture in disgust, wondering how such a rude, offensive person could make it through the screening process and become a camp counselor.
I don’t know, man, I just don’t know. ♫ Might as well face it, I’m a dick with a glove.♫