i refuse to have one of those days
where i sit in my bed and i think about
all the better lives i could be living.
where i look at myself naked in the mirror
and start drawing better versions of my tits over them in sharpie marker.
where i call my mom and blame her for not naming me Minerva,
because Minerva would surely be a more interesting lady.

the fridge smells bad, the cat keeps tripping me on the stairs,
no one is home and i already masturbated this morning.
we need milk, the electric bill is late, so is my period.

i wish i had some knee-high boots,
i wish i had some of those old perfume bottles with the pump.
i wish i had someone who's bed i could crawl into right now
and demand love.

i wish i could be one of those people
who could go up to strangers on the street
and be charismatic enough to make a lasting impression.

i take a walk to the coffee house
and there are two college girls talking about
how much they love to have sex.
one of them says, "aren't blowjobs so funny?"
the other one laughs, "yeah, they're the shit. they're like, so funny."

i look around hoping that i can make eye contact
with someone and be like,
"dude are you hearing this?"

but everyone is so enveloped in their newspapers and teacups,
their printed out articles and blueberry scones.
i take out my laptop and try to look very important
but i can't stop listening to these girls going on,
"oh i know, right. swallowing is so not a big deal.
whatever!"

i want to join their conversation.
i want to go over there and be like,
"yeah girl! semen's so empowering, right? let's start
spreading it on our bagels and using it as moisturizer! cha!"

i want to be naive enough to think
that the only conclusion worth coming to
about blowjobs is that they're so not a big deal.
that the most complicated my life is going to get
is psyche 300 where the teacher is such a drone.
i want to take these two high-voiced first years and
clank together their heads, i want to fill their ugg boots
with my collection bills and demand that they muzzle themselves until
they're at least twenty two.

i want someone to be observing me
so intently from the other side of the table.
i wonder what conclusions people would come to about me.

"that girl over there in the pigtails obviously
doesn't have a lover. she probably watches my so-called life and cries.
i bet she fantasizes about living in "the x-files" and that she
sometimes thinks q-tips are better than sex."

i walk back home and call my dad.
he says, "oh heyyyyy, me and my financially
dependent and much younger girlfriend karen and
i are going on a two week tour of costa rica, we were wondering
if you could come and take care of the cat."

and i think to myself,
man, Dad, remember when i used to ride your shoulders
in the middle of central park
and think that nothing could ever be truer or more important
than feeling the rhythm of your walking
banging against my kneecaps
while i dripped my vanilla ice cream cone
on your good shirt.
when did it become okay for you to regard me
as your caretaker?

man, i want to be a kid again.
i want to say ridiculous things in public
without being given one of those
half-eyed squints. i want to wear shoelaces
around my neck again and my grandpa's old work shirts.
i want to pretend that i'm an orphan and scream
"BANGORANG!" in the middle of a crowded room
and have everyone know what i'm talking about.
i want to have roller skates embedded in my sneakers
and not have to save my money for things like
sink de-clogger and a vacuum. i want to go to the store
and get excited about lego pirate ships,
not swiffer's newest mop.

i want to scare mothers
when i shake their small children
and say,
"STOP PRETENDING TO BE OLDER THAN YOU ARE!"

because i'm finally as grown up
as that girl i kept pretending i was when i was a kid,
and the truth is,
i'd give anything to be that gawky little freak
i used to be if it meant that i could have grown up
into someone who knew how to do it a little less clumsily.

02/26/2010

Posted on 02/26/2010
Copyright © 2024 Lauren Singer