So, today I woke up with a strong and pervasive dose of ‘the miserables’. The only thing worse than having you in my life is not having you in my life. How dare you not be at my beckon call! You selfish turd.
Well, after pacing around like a pissed off panther for hours and being totally fed up with my own company, as hard as that is to believe, I decided to punish you by going out and having a whale of a time. On my own. All by my own self, with no one to look after me or care about me. Alone. Not to labour the point or anything.
I wandered far and wide, to the local fresh produce markets a block from home. As I walked between the stalls I was reminded of you. Yes, that awful ‘fresh fish’ seller was still trying to recycle last year’s catch.
Were you there when I saw something hysterically funny and that I wanted to share? Like that horrible kid who got his comeuppance and went face-first into some random dog shit, very thoughtfully left on the ground by its feral owner who doesn’t believe in using plastic bags because she doesn’t abuse the environment? No-o-oh!
Were you there when I wanted to pull that awful emo girl’s hair and blame it on you? Of course not. I had to blame it on ‘Save the Planet’ Girl, instead. I have to say, though, her one redeeming quality is that she’s not above squirting environmentally safe dishwashing liquid into someone’s eyes, so all was not lost. She managed to keep a few of her teeth.
And where were you when I wanted to hold someone’s hand? Good God! I had an offer from a lovely man who’d just been released from prison, but his hands were that thick-skinned, scaly, and bone-dry variety I most recently encountered on your sister. While I think of it, I bought her a 20 litre container of coconut oil. You’re welcome. She is too, but less so. Call it ‘defensive gift-giving’. She can pay me back later.
So, I had to eat alone. A hot dog just isn’t as enjoyable without your knee there to catch the hot spills. While I was eating, one of those awful old biddies who like to mind everyone else’s business came lumbering by, so I did everyone a favour and diverted her attention. Yes, I ankle-tapped her. Her granny-pannies were a very fetching shade of the colour ‘Bleach! My eyes need bleach!’ Imagine how surprised I was when I didn’t get the rousing round of applause I’d anticipated. Tough audience.
People get upset at the darnedest things. I saw a sign that had “TACOS!” written in mile-high letters, so I took one. A taco, that is, and not the sign, just so we’re clear because, you know, you’re not the sharpest tool in the shed. A few sandwiches short of a picnic. A low-watt bulb. Anyway, as I bit into it, I thought of you. Well, frankly, I thought of a part of you. Oh, dear. I seemed to have derailed my train of thought again, comparing tacos to vaginas. How unappetising! I put the taco back. They could sell it at a discount; I hadn’t eaten much. The seller said I had to pay for it anyway, so I gave him 90%. I’m not paying full price for leftovers.
While I was wandering hungrily about, looking for a snack, some seller approached me loudly singing the praises of his apples, so I took one. The humble apple; downfall of mankind, with thanks to all those of Tribe Vagina. Honestly, if women didn’t have vaginas no one would talk to them, except to say “Food, drink, where are my socks?” And can you believe it? The vendor actually expected me to pay for the apple! He was the one waving them about like a limp-dicked porn star in a turkey slapping movie. “Well, if you didn’t want me to have one why were you waving them about?” I asked, and then I got it. He was one of those types, offering sweet inducements to gorgeous and unsuspecting innocents like me in the hope of making a temporary friend in the mens’ toilets. “You should be ashamed of yourself!” I said hotly, before running away, bottom virginity intact.
“Madame Zelda, sees all, tells all” the fat and warted-up woman posing as a Romanian ‘Traveller’ said. “Oh, good!” I replied with genuine relief. “Can you tell me where the restrooms are?” I was too scared to ask the apple vendor. She cast a spell at me. “Hey, that really hurt! Not.” I said in reply. So then she threw a deck of Tarot cards at me, and that really did hurt. I punched her in the face and said “There! You didn’t see that coming!”
My feet were hurting from all the walking around I’d done. It’s so much more convenient when you push me in that wheelchair we fox everyone with. And we get better parking in malls, too. If ever you needed a demonstration of how much I need you, well, there it is. I very literally stumbled onto a stall where they give foot massages, so I had one. “Here! You’ve only got one sock on!” said the masseuse. She reminded me suspiciously of you and for a second I wondered if you were moonlighting, but then I saw she only had one wart on her chin and her eyes were not nearly as crossed as yours, so I figured she came from a different branch of the family. The one who hit every other branch with her face on the way down. “Yes,” I said, sadly. “The love of my life says she’s too busy to baby me. Baby me! As if, by my mere presence on the planet I somehow don’t ‘deserve’ to be taken care of,” I replied. “And I suppose you expect your pound of flesh, so to speak, as if I don’t deserve a foot massage after all I’ve been through today.” I left her the money she asked for, and my used toe jam collection as a tip.
So here I am, back at home. Hungry. Thirsty. And … “Oh! There you are! Look, while I think of it, where are my socks?”