Everything but the Girl
I'm coming up the stairway after buying my morning Diet Coke and I see Molly (my decade older hot neighbor) coming down. She touches my elbow and exclaims, "Hi, I haven't seen you for awhile!"
"Well, I've been pretty busy lately with my ear to the wall listening to you have sex with your German boyfriend, Axle," I don't say.
"Well, I've been working a lot," I say.
She's five steps below me now looking up at me with her hand on the railing. She's not dressing up as nicely these days now that she has a boyfriend. Also, her hair needs new color.
She's wearing a pink shirt under a green corduroy jacket and it catches my eye. I hate pink used in excess, but I feel compelled to compliment her in some way as that's been our custom in the past. She walks by and I tell her: "Nice hat", "Cool sunglasses", "What an attractive, leather wearing, motorcycle riding, muscular, German actor boyfriend you have."
Today, there are letters on her shirt. A phrase.
"What's your shirt say?" I ask.
She puffs up her anatomically understated chest, opens her jacket, and I read:
GIRLS KICK ASS!
"You're far from a girl," I tell her without even thinking. I instantly put the 20 oz. bottle of soda into my mouth and take a 10 oz. swig.
She looks pissed.
Damage control. I search the cattacombs of my head and the nether regions of my Id for some kind of explanation I can share.
I swallow my soda.
"Girl sounds so diminutive," I say.
"What do you mean?" she asks.
I choose a feminist slant.
"I mean, it makes females sound small, inferior," I tell her, and then I shake my head as if I'm swatting gnats with my ears and nose.
I become Woody Allen.
"Yeah," I explain, "an ex-girlfriend of mine used to get mad at me every time I called her or any other female over the legal age of consent a 'girl'. Now, even I correct people. The irony is she was obsessed with the color pink and carried a magic Barbie wand with her everywhere she went. It's sick. I need to reprogram myself."
"Okay," she says obviously disgusted and weirded out.
"Okay," I say.
"See you later," she says.
"Yeah, later," I say.
I'm coming up the stairway after buying my morning Diet Coke and I see Molly (my decade older hot neighbor) coming down. She touches my elbow and exclaims, "Hi, I haven't seen you for awhile!"
"Well, I've been pretty busy lately with my ear to the wall listening to you have sex with your German boyfriend, Axle," I don't say.
"Well, I've been working a lot," I say.
She's five steps below me now looking up at me with her hand on the railing. She's not dressing up as nicely these days now that she has a boyfriend. Also, her hair needs new color.
She's wearing a pink shirt under a green corduroy jacket and it catches my eye. I hate pink used in excess, but I feel compelled to compliment her in some way as that's been our custom in the past. She walks by and I tell her: "Nice hat", "Cool sunglasses", "What an attractive, leather wearing, motorcycle riding, muscular, German actor boyfriend you have."
Today, there are letters on her shirt. A phrase.
"What's your shirt say?" I ask.
She puffs up her anatomically understated chest, opens her jacket, and I read:
GIRLS KICK ASS!
"You're far from a girl," I tell her without even thinking. I instantly put the 20 oz. bottle of soda into my mouth and take a 10 oz. swig.
She looks pissed.
Damage control. I search the cattacombs of my head and the nether regions of my Id for some kind of explanation I can share.
I swallow my soda.
"Girl sounds so diminutive," I say.
"What do you mean?" she asks.
I choose a feminist slant.
"I mean, it makes females sound small, inferior," I tell her, and then I shake my head as if I'm swatting gnats with my ears and nose.
I become Woody Allen.
"Yeah," I explain, "an ex-girlfriend of mine used to get mad at me every time I called her or any other female over the legal age of consent a 'girl'. Now, even I correct people. The irony is she was obsessed with the color pink and carried a magic Barbie wand with her everywhere she went. It's sick. I need to reprogram myself."
"Okay," she says obviously disgusted and weirded out.
"Okay," I say.
"See you later," she says.
"Yeah, later," I say.
posted by c. @ 10:17 AM
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