“I just had to call you, Shay,” he said, “because—“
“Because you still want me?” I interrupted.
Theo never wanted me. Truth be told, it was I who wanted him, and everyone in our little group of friends back then—my hubs included—knew that I had a crush on Theo. Probably because I walked around announcing that I had a crush on Theo while flaunting my imaginary get-out-of-jail cheating card.
It was one of my favorite things to do. We’d all be sitting around drinking beer, and poor Theo would just be minding his own business, most likely trying to avoid my hungry eyes. But I’d make sure to catch him anytime he happened to look in the vicinity of my direction, and I’d waggle my eyebrows at him as I pulled that imaginary card out of my back pocket and said, “Don’t worry, Theo. We’ll get our chance.”
Theo was a nice guy. He tried not to react, but a couple of times I saw him visibly flinch as I licked my lips lasciviously and winked at him. Once, I heard my hubs mutter, “Sorry, dude,” to which Theo replied, “It’s cool, man. Not your fault.”
It actually was the hubs’s fault I had my get-out-of-jail cheating card, anyway. I earned it one night at Mardi Gras when he kissed my older sister’s best friend.
Well, what actually happened was that my older sister’s best friend, drunk, had stumbled into my hubs, catching him off-guard as she grabbed his face and stuck her tongue down his throat.
She then flung him away, turned her face, and puked, causing him to do the same.
But it’s like I’ve told him over and over again—at least he didn’t get throw-up in his mouth. And I’m sorry that his cheating circumstances weren’t more enjoyable for him, but I simply couldn’t control that. It’s not my fault how I earned my get-out-of-jail cheating card. All that matters is that I have it.
But apparently that wasn’t why Theo was calling.
“No!” he said—a little too loudly and quickly for my liking—in answer to my question. “I was calling because I found that recipe you gave me. It just says Douchers at the top, and you berate me for no reason after almost every step.”
I shrugged on the other end of the line. That sounded about right.
Mention of the douchers took me way back to years ago, pre-kids, when none of us had to watch our mouths around toddlers and could walk around re-naming burger recipes things like douchers, feeling free to scream the word throughout whomever’s house we were visiting as we guzzled our beers without worrying about getting home to babysitters or waking up to screaming kids at 6:00 AM.
Ah, the Doucher Days.
Nobody can remember why we called the burgers douchers. Probably because we called everything in the whole entire world some version of the word “douche” simply because it was fun. What we do remember is how fun it was to talk about them:
“Damn, I’ve got a taste for some douchers.”
“Douchers melt right in your mouth.”
“Those douchers are addictive, right?”
“Totally. You can’t have just one doucher.”
“The only thing that could make this day even better is a doucher.”
“Shay, will you be making douchers Saturday night?” [This was one of my faves. Any one of those assholes could have made their own batch of douchers, but they were too fcking lazy—and they knew I thrived on flattery, probably because we were all such assholes and used it so sparingly. So when one of them would ask this, they’d normally follow it up with, “Aw, Shay, it’s just that they’re not as good when we try. They’re only good when you make them.” And I would always—ALWAYS—forget that they were totally playing me, and I’d bat my eyelashes and toe the ground as I said, “Really? Really, you guys? Alright, I’ll make a batch.” If I were talking to Theo, I’d flip my cheat card before he had a chance to scurry off.]
And then there was this, usually said shame-facedly as we all sat around rubbing our stomachs after having gorged:
“Do the douchers make anyone else feel like they’re going to shit their pants?”
Okay, so that one wasn’t pleasant. And while I can’t necessarily explain how the name douchers came about, I can take a guess as to how they got their real name: sliders.
But dammit, the pain of the burgers shooting straight through your insides and out into the toilet—if you were lucky enough to make it that far—was totally worth it.
So now I’d like to pay it forward. I’m sure you have a New Year’s Eve get-together to attend, and the douchers are perfect because although they are burgers, they’re in a snacky-size bun so people don’t feel as fat while they’re eating them. At least that was my experience as I snarfed 6 of them guilt-free every time.
I’m not sure if it was the way I smelled as I gassed them off afterwards or if it was Theo’s strict moral ethics against kissing a married woman, but either way, I never did get to make out with him before the hubs and I moved away. But at least I’ve still got my card.
Oh—and one more thing before I get to the recipe. I’m not sure why I berated Theo for needing the steps to make the douchers (see recipe below). Because I got the recipe from my boss at the time, and the first time I made them, this was the frantic text that he received from me as I was trying to put them together before my own New Year’s Eve party:
Do I put the pickle on before or after I put the sliders into the oven? [They were still “sliders” the first time I made them.]
His response: What the hell is this question you’re asking me? About a pickle? Who the hell cares when you add the damned pickle? Who hired you? Please tell me I wasn’t the one who hired you.
Isn’t it interesting how some people are so good at texting that you can just hear them saying the words?
And then me: You inherited me. So, pickle before or after the oven?
Boss: Pickle before oven. [A heavy sigh came with this one, don’t you think? See? He was just that good at texting.]
I’m not sure why, but somehow I felt that I’d won, you know?
And finally, without further ado, I present to you…
Trashy Recipe Recommendation: Douchers
1 lb. hamburger
1 packet dry onion soup
½ cup mayonnaise (Helman’s is the best, if you ask me)
1 cup shredded cheddar cheese
12-pack of Sarah Lee dinner rolls
And don’t forget the pickles—one for each doucher
Here is how I gave the steps to Theo:
Are you fcking kidding me, you dumbass? You BROWN THE GODDAMNED HAMBURGER and then mix all of the other shit together with it and stick it on a bun. With a pickle. Holy SHIT you are stupid.
But here is how I’ll give it to you, my sweet, sweet readers on whom I depend for my own self-worth:
1.) Brown the hamburger, then drain
2.) Stir in one packet of dry onion soup with the amount of water specified on the box directions. Let simmer for a few minutes.
3.) Add the mayonnaise and cheddar cheese; mix
4.) Halve the Sarah Lee dinner rolls, put the bottom halves into a casserole dish sprayed with non-stick cooking spray, and fill with the beef mixture. Top each sandwich with one sliced pickle, and then put the other half of the roll back on top.
5.) Bake, covered, for 20 minutes at 325 degrees.
(I never keep mine in for 20 minutes because that last step is just to warm the rolls, and we’re a bunch of fatasses around here who can’t wait to eat when we start to smell the douchers. I usually keep mine in for about 10-15 minutes.)
Enjoy!! Just make sure to pack a bucket or something to shit into in case the bathrooms at the party you’re attending are full and you need one, like, really fast. Which you will.
But seriously: Totally worth it.