Of course I put on lipstick and boots tonight. The two things that are the biggest pain in the ass to remove when your plans fall through. So you wind up like me, sitting on the sofa, boots still tied up to your ankles, lipstick gluing your upper lip to your bottom lip, waiting for someone to text you back and tell you about this fabulous party that you must leave for immediately. But instead you’re pouring over the wonderful places and accomplishments all of your friends three times removed are publicizing on Facebook. Wishing you were that person. Wishing you could just know that person smiling on top of that snow covered alp so that you could be fabulous by association.
I wish I was fabulous.
I wish I was thin and beautiful and held myself with grace. That I oozed that sort of femininity that those girls do that makes their hairy bouncy and their smiles shiny. That I could keep myself from slouching and hold my chin upright in a proud dignified manner that could scream “I don’t have money but you know you want to give me yours”. That I knew how to put my hand on a man’s shoulder and look into his eyes and have him seduced in less that a minute.
But I’m not. I’m clumsy. I’m rude. I’m loud, annoying, fat, masculine and aggressive. I snort sometimes when I laugh. I can’t help myself from waving my arms and hands excessively when I talk. I love to eat. I love to cook. I love to make things and then consume them. To make something that’s outside of me become a part of me. I’m horny. I want men, I want boys, I want a personal plaything, but I have no game.
And the game is the answer to this dumb pseudo dilemma I’ve created once again.
So I give up the game like I do every time I’m about to play it and I finally unlace my boots. I wipe off my lipstick. And I lay my weary head down upon my pillow to escape this nightmarish existence I will call upon again tomorrow morning.