bad apple
i think there’s a fbook group at school called something like:
“in retrospect, that was a poor decision.”
(examples of poor decisions include getting drunk the night before a final, and invading Russia in winter.)
no matter how hot it gets here, that just might apply to the act of fishing out something only presentable in theory for an outing with your dad, something which has a 98% chance of having been bought in 1998 when you were three and a half sizes smaller - and promptly wriggling into it. and also, for that something to be short enough now that if i were one of my neighbors, and ran into myself on the street, i would huffily cross over to the other side to show that i’d moved to my particular postal district to avoid scantily clad minorities. . . . actually, maybe that was a poor decision even in forespect.
then again, after throwing on the offending pair, i saw my dad and he saw the shorts, and his only remark was that my legs were “white.”
all right. fair enough, i thought, getting into the car. at least he didn’t have a really public coronary. but later i did a color check, and there is a distinct possibility that my dad is four-tenths-of-the-way blind. that, or in possession of some seriously defective sunglasses. (and though she still wouldn’t cotton to such harlotwear, i imagine after a quick once over that same hypothetical Old South self would come crossing back to my side of the street inquiring concernedly after my health.)
b/c i look rather abused.
maybe it’s halfway related to my habit of perma-tripping, physically and emotionally, but i’ve got kind of a remarkable collection of bruises on my legs and feet. i told marcus yesterday that dani was keeping me busy w/ editing and whips, and now i’m so mottled, marbled, and purpled that she could’ve easily clubbed me with an ugly stick for three hours running.
there’s a batch of them that are fresh and green, or a nice brown, sewage color, and an especially painful aquifer of pain in my right thigh. and a four-inch scratch above my left knee. and heels that are in desperate need of healing.
yeah, i don’t really know how that happened. maybe off-the-bed vertigo rolls in the night that i don’t remember? there’s enough crap on the floor to land on to disfigure a full-grown Kodiak bear. this might not bode very well for my current level of self-love, but i may or may not have given myself a sound beating.
i should def throw out my clothes from middle school, though.
“in retrospect, that was a poor decision.”
(examples of poor decisions include getting drunk the night before a final, and invading Russia in winter.)
no matter how hot it gets here, that just might apply to the act of fishing out something only presentable in theory for an outing with your dad, something which has a 98% chance of having been bought in 1998 when you were three and a half sizes smaller - and promptly wriggling into it. and also, for that something to be short enough now that if i were one of my neighbors, and ran into myself on the street, i would huffily cross over to the other side to show that i’d moved to my particular postal district to avoid scantily clad minorities. . . . actually, maybe that was a poor decision even in forespect.
then again, after throwing on the offending pair, i saw my dad and he saw the shorts, and his only remark was that my legs were “white.”
all right. fair enough, i thought, getting into the car. at least he didn’t have a really public coronary. but later i did a color check, and there is a distinct possibility that my dad is four-tenths-of-the-way blind. that, or in possession of some seriously defective sunglasses. (and though she still wouldn’t cotton to such harlotwear, i imagine after a quick once over that same hypothetical Old South self would come crossing back to my side of the street inquiring concernedly after my health.)
b/c i look rather abused.
maybe it’s halfway related to my habit of perma-tripping, physically and emotionally, but i’ve got kind of a remarkable collection of bruises on my legs and feet. i told marcus yesterday that dani was keeping me busy w/ editing and whips, and now i’m so mottled, marbled, and purpled that she could’ve easily clubbed me with an ugly stick for three hours running.
there’s a batch of them that are fresh and green, or a nice brown, sewage color, and an especially painful aquifer of pain in my right thigh. and a four-inch scratch above my left knee. and heels that are in desperate need of healing.
yeah, i don’t really know how that happened. maybe off-the-bed vertigo rolls in the night that i don’t remember? there’s enough crap on the floor to land on to disfigure a full-grown Kodiak bear. this might not bode very well for my current level of self-love, but i may or may not have given myself a sound beating.
i should def throw out my clothes from middle school, though.