| Aug192008 | All I Need in a Man |
I have spare time at work but no good ideas to blog. I hope you gag on my bad writing.
“But how do we go back?!” He gestures abruptly, his hands echo the volume of his words.
She nods and quietly tolerates his melodrama. This is what she imagined adult womanhood to be: sitting back and watching the wild imaginings of men-children. She was prone to similar flights of fancy but her pursuits were somewhat more… dignified. Not to say that this reserved submission towards men was any kind of ideal for her but she grew up different from all the middle-class, cautiously-optimistic cynics; she was an authentic pessimist. There was no need to buy a t-shirt to affirm this.
“Do you see?” His eyes are wide and bold, his breath quivers as his heartbeat resonates in his throat. “This life you’ve cultivated is Santa Claus! You’re threatened to obey and obey so that someone might have the time to judge you and reward you for acting appropriately. Look around at the people in this diner, everyone’s heads are watermelons.” He clasps her hand gently and slows his breathing, “Watermelons.”
“I’m a watermelon too.” Her head feels heavier for saying that.
“You are. And it works well for you.” He aggressively scratches at his hair; his nails scrape noisily against the final layer of dying scalp. “I’m more of a hush puppy. Greasy yet dry, burning brilliant heat and unashamedly corny.”
She meters her breathing. She’s a metronome against his insanity now.
“Maybe one day you’ll finally understand why they all left you,” he huffs.
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