With a tone the doors shift open, and I wince as my boots click on the granite floor. I feel like a villain. How does one hush the click of their boots? Glue cotton balls to the sole, soften things up a little. Like a metaphor or something. What does the sound of your shoes suggest about the tenderness of your soul?
What should my shoes sound like? A louder thud with a legato hum, one step slurs into the other with a sort of, I don't know...letter B. Each sounds like a "buh," loud and stretched, but squashy all the same. Maybe not squashy. Butternutty? Is that what my soul sounds like?
I love pushing through this revolving door, because each revelation is like saving the earth.
Rain. Rain should always be like wandering into the middle of a cool, invisible surprise party. One where I am the guest of honor. We're having a good time, getting into a little mischief, and we've gotten over the awkward small talk and have yet to enter blinding, drunken turbulence. From this moment on, I will try to live life like that.
Also:
Dear Me,
Stop eating Reese's pumpkins, fatty. Live life like that. Without all the peanut butter.
Love, Me
Will Reese's ever develop Nutella cupcakes? That could be delicious. But then I would have to eat two at once (one to cancel the other) because Nutella just makes me wish I had peanut butter.
"Hello, ladies," I say to the two smiling, elderly principals waiting for me in their car on the street. They hand me packages of school grant applications, and I thank them for beating the deadline, and they ask if I have an umbrella. I explain that I have bad luck with umbrellas, because sometimes I get drunk and give them to homeless people sleeping in boarded doorways. We say goodbye. As they shift back into the busy traffic I offer a wave, when a random angry-looking woman stalks up to me.
"This is the FUCKING BUS LANE," she shouts angrily, and flicks off the nice old ladies in the car before trying to stare me down.
I point at her and laugh, and keep on chuckling over my shoulder as I click back into the office building through the rain.
Today is a good day.
...
19 comments:
Oh, Jesus. Loud shoes. I did a post on summertime shoes in the tube. In the summer I wear lots of mules ... nothing holds them up at the heel and when clomping down stairs, I clomp. I fucking clomp. Bam Bam Bam. the post I wrote pleaded for advice. No one gave me anything that really works.
I have a feeling this is a typical day for you.
My heels click on the cobblestone. I like it.
Oh and I miss Reese's pieces like a motherfucker.
Great! Now I have to eat a Reese's. NOW, I tell you . . .
Oh my, they have just started selling Reese's peanut butter cups in our local shop and I have eaten about 46,000. On behalf of Britain I thank you, America.
I had always thought that all souls sound the same -- that sort of cosmic hum, sounds a bit like a cicada, that you hear when you deprive your brain of oxygen. No, I don't know that for a fact. Why would you even ask that? Also, the soul tastes like water. Room temperature, I imagine. No, maybe so hot it seems cold or so cold it seems hot. That sounds, er, tastes, er, feels right.
It's always a good day when you got boots on. Boots command authority and respect. The noise they make when you walk announces to everyone that someone you shouldn't fuck with is coming and if your ass doesn't recognize that then it's going to get stomped.
Do you know how many people I would punch in the head to get a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos right now??
Reeses Nutella Cups. With raspberry. FUCK. YEAH.
My favorite shoes squeak now, so I can't wear them anymore. Squeaking is way worse than clicking. Also, have you had the chocolate peanut butter yet? It's evil.
The key is to use nutella for non peanut butter applications. For example peanut butter on graham crackers is ok, kinda kindergarten snacky. NUTELLA on graham crackers is dessert. I haven't tried it on fruit, but I'll
bet it's similarally transformative.
Not, mind you, that kindergarten-y snacks are to be scoffed at.
What's up with Americans and peanut butter? Seriously that stuff sucks. Sticks to your gums.
"Point and laugh"?
I'm gonna try that on the next crazy old lady that comes whining around my desk looking for more continence pads
I loved Nutella when I lived in Italy. I put it on everything. Do they even sell it here in the USA?
I love pushing through this revolving door, because each revelation is like saving the earth.
Rain. Rain should always be like wandering into the middle of a cool, invisible surprise party.
you just blew my mind.
marry me.
For Sid - Peanut Butter isn't everyone's cup of tea, but it beats the hell out of marmite!
You've just given me pure delight. Mostly by discussing peanut butter. But also because I've always told you I've loved you right down to your twinkle toes and now I do more than ever because this writing is simply delicious.
grilled peanut butter and bacon sandwiches, shit yeah, the stuff is golden, good bacon too not that microwave shit, when i go i'm going out like fucking Elvis, all pilled up with a peanut butter and bacon sandwich watching television on the shitter, hell yes.
My soul is silent- stealthy because it is worried that it could be discovered and people would KNOW that it is a dark and malevolent thing. Or I've just never heard it.
Also, why are people such a-holes? I was in line for gas yesterday and pulled forward and this chick in a station wagon yelled out "thanks a lot lady!" and angrily pulled around me to park at the store. I guess I blocked another spot. I was like- you're welcome, I guess. Why didn't she just yell out- I was trying to park there! And maybe I would have looked up and realized that she existed, and maybe backed up so she could get through.
Strangers are so bitchy to each other. I do not like that about us humans.
Also also, I've never had nutella.
"What does the sound of your shoes suggest about the tenderness of your soul?" That there was POETRY, dammit. It kind of sucks that there's a tiny kernal of jealousy at the very center of my Rassles fanage. And the pointing and the laughing at the screamer? I do believe I have the makings of a girl-crush.
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