The Morning After
No. I didn't sing the male parts of "Barbie Girl" to a full bar.
No. I didn't eat nearly a whole loaf by myself because it tasted so good dipped in the leftover sauce of my mushroom ravioli.
No. I didn't find my way to the doorstep of an unsuspecting Good Doctor just because it seemed like the obvious thing to do when you're only on that side of town.
No. I didn't lick sauce off the cheek of a Dodge in what is likely Kato's classiest restaurant. Or drink Purple Hooters. Or tell the waiter that he should stick it out in attempt to "get some" from the Bible-lovin' girl he's been seeing for two weeks. And I certainly didn't agree with him that if he spent nearly $300 on Brad Paisley tickets for the two, that she should have given him a little somethin' somethin' too. Or ask him for a job immediately after. I didn't tell him my food was so good I would stick it down my pants. Afterall, that doesn't even make sense.
Why do I do this to myself? And why are there cameras to record this? Really, I had the best of intentions to stay home and get work done, thesis work and prep for a grammar course I am supposed to teach on Tuesday night at SCC despite there being only two people who signed up. I didn't even have real pants on when they called. No makeup.
And the next morning I wake up too early. I worry about all the things that need to be done. About all the things that I left myself do. In public. Ach. And I feel the ulcer growing, waiting.
No. I didn't eat nearly a whole loaf by myself because it tasted so good dipped in the leftover sauce of my mushroom ravioli.
No. I didn't find my way to the doorstep of an unsuspecting Good Doctor just because it seemed like the obvious thing to do when you're only on that side of town.
No. I didn't lick sauce off the cheek of a Dodge in what is likely Kato's classiest restaurant. Or drink Purple Hooters. Or tell the waiter that he should stick it out in attempt to "get some" from the Bible-lovin' girl he's been seeing for two weeks. And I certainly didn't agree with him that if he spent nearly $300 on Brad Paisley tickets for the two, that she should have given him a little somethin' somethin' too. Or ask him for a job immediately after. I didn't tell him my food was so good I would stick it down my pants. Afterall, that doesn't even make sense.
Why do I do this to myself? And why are there cameras to record this? Really, I had the best of intentions to stay home and get work done, thesis work and prep for a grammar course I am supposed to teach on Tuesday night at SCC despite there being only two people who signed up. I didn't even have real pants on when they called. No makeup.
And the next morning I wake up too early. I worry about all the things that need to be done. About all the things that I left myself do. In public. Ach. And I feel the ulcer growing, waiting.
posted by KC in Katoland at 10:39 AM
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