Being young and being hard to please, I suppose we were quite different. When we stepped outside and found nothing worth working towards, nobody worth working for and no appreciation grand enough to sedate our unwarranted rage towards nobody in particular. Diverting it away from ourselves.
No hills to head for, no money for cars we didn’t have licenses to drive.
We still need direction but hate anyone telling us what to do. I’m sitting here with dettol heels and memories of tight smiles and pretty girls. Nothing to bulk up the last four years but drunk nights, which are as weak as coffee stains. Coffee I don’t even drink anymore. Coffee I only drink on the weekends.
And having sex again was always a terrible idea.
Didn’t See You On Sunday he says. Yeah My Other Life Caught Up With Me.
My Mother on watching American Pie 2: ‘Why do all guys want us to lick their balls?’
And me: ‘I don’t think they do, Mum.’
And her: ‘No, ____, I think they do.’
On circumcision. Her: ‘I’ve only ever slept with one guy who wasn’t. I used to call it a sleeping bag. You know? Because it goes inside it at night?’
I don’t even.