Her reasoning was simple: God often tells us His will by "laying a burden on us." She was worried that Donny, as a Mormon, was destined to an eternity in the Lake of Fire. One night when she was praying for him to be saved, God "laid the burden" on her to be the one who would win him.
Of course, you can win someone's soul without marrying him, so she sealed the deal by asking God in Jesus' name to give her Donny Osmond as a husband. God said that whenever we pray for anything in Jesus' name, we will get it. Case closed.
While Rita was waiting for God to deliver Donny, she had to keep herself pure, so no kissing, no holding hands, no nothing.
If I have to date a girl, I definitely want one who doesn't want to hold hands or kiss, and who wants to talk about cute guys!
Rita rated guys on a scale of 1-9. Since Donny Osmond was undeniably the most attractive boy who had ever lived, he was the only #10. Everyone else lined up by how closely they resembled Donny Osmond in hair, eyes, smile, physique.
Unfortunately, there weren't a lot of androgynous pretty boys with shaggy hair and an Osmond smile at Rocky High, so none of the guys got higher than 3 or 4.
I had another idea. "Since Donny Osmond is perfect in every way, he must obviously be perfect down there, in his sexual organs, right?"
"Right," Rita said dubiously.
"No one will ever come close to Donny's facial beauty, but they might come close down there. Let's rate the source of masculinity itself!"
"But how can we tell what a guy is like down there without seeing him, you know, with his clothes off?"
So I showed her how to tell how it was hanging from the way a guy walked, from how he sat.
Boners while sleeping or kissing his girlfriend, or for no reason at all.
Bulges in spandex.
Bulges in uniforms.
1. Can't see anything.
2. Small bulge, could be a curve of his fabric.
3. Big bulge, but could be something else.
5. Visible cock outline.
6. Obvious semi.
7. Full tent.
8. He rearranges himself.
9. He pushes on it.
10. It pops out!
The game lasted for months. Neither of us thought it strange that two ultra-conservative Nazarene kids, who felt guilty over going to movies or eating in a restaurant that served alcohol, would eagerly look for evidence of guys' cocks and balls through their pants.
My friend Aaron the Rabbi's son asked to get in on the game, but soon he dropped out.
"Guys' baskets are boring!" he told us. "Half the time you can't see anything at all, and even when you see something, how do you know it isn't his handkerchief or his wallet? I'd rather rate guys on something more obvious."