Saturday, July 18, 2015

I do not glisten. I sweat. (profusely)


So when I see you in a bathroom mirror I smile, and that's ridiculous.
And ridiculous is when you call your friend.




"Hey."

"Hey."

"You know how I screamed and said I had to go earlier."

"Yeah. Somebody was there. You had to put a bra on."

"Shouldn't it be a rule that people call before they come?"

"Yes."

"Glad we got that out of the way. Anyway, I have a gift for you."

"Okay."

"So I was at the paint store today. Right?"

"Okay."

"And I sat down on one of the little stools 'cause the two guys there were taking out the garbage. It was a quarter to noon and they close at noon so I had my piece of paper with all the specifications 'cause there were a lot. But I had them all. I knew every one. I was real proud of myself. One of those pat yourself on the back. Eat a cookie. Aren't you just special? Plop down on a stool, sit and wait kinda deals. They had air conditioning, an important commodity these days. Some may consider it oppressive outside."

"It is hot."

"Yeah. That's what one of those guys and I talked about. About how for the next three days it's gonna feel like a hundred and ten outside. I asked him, 'Do you think it was like this when we were kids?'"

"'You know,' he said, 'I ask that question a lot. What are you? Fifty? I'm sixty.'"




She laughed.





Today I am grateful for bathrooms of America and the dreamer in me. (she makes up the funniest of stories and someone once said the world is made up of those) I am grateful to hear a friend laugh. I am grateful that my Aunt Dottie called me a little piece of shit right before I sat on her bed. I am grateful for a conversation with Willie and a couple of guys at the Benjamin Moore store. I am grateful to have seen Clara and John and Mary and to talk with Mom and that kid of mine. I am grateful that my brother, in the middle of what could have been considered an oppressive heat, cut up and picked up a limb the size of a fifteen year old oak. I am grateful for the opportunity to put Wyatt to bed, sit on a porch and type on a computer.






Latest selling point on this state:
no. you can't have it, New Orleans

Come to Mississippi in July and August for a natural sauna. Toxinsschmoxins. Melt away, friends.
(photo of a porch, two chairs, two lights. one from up above, the other from a laptop. a writer uses both chairs. her feet propped up in one.)

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