janvier 12, 2002
A Coonskin & a Cap

Today I bought myself a full-length racoonskin coat and a mouthful of real pearls to help me endure the ravages of winter. When I left the store, my glorious bicolored pelt swinging from my wellshaped hips and my pearls dangling casually from my parted ruby lips (I got the color from some company which I think has since gone under -- wonderful matte lipsticks in bright, true reds that you gotta put on with a funny brush) I was assailed with all kinds of insults and accusations -- murderer, racist (coons, you know. Balderdash) and (my favorite) Davy Crockett. The Davy Crockett comment came from a narrow-shouldered college student with clear blue eyes and an open backpack. I asked him what he meant exactly and he laughed like he was a little embarrassed so I asked him if he wanted to touch it and he did and you could tell he thought it felt nice. I considered taking him out for egg salad sandwiches, but then I realized I only had fifteen cents on me and I needed that for my daily fix of penny Sour Patch kids. I zipped up his backpack for him and sent him on his way. Then I went home and unfastened the pink case I keep my diaphragm in and thought how I had never used it. It was an heirloom from my grandmother, who was one of the early heroines of the family planning movement and whose cervix was exactly in the same place as mine. The ninety-year old doctor who has examined us both told me they are the exact same healthy, lovely color: a vivid, hibiscus pink. Eat that, Davy Crockett boy, I thought to myself, and then realized the sexual implications of that statement. I blushed, snapped the case shut, and went into the kitchen to make myself some supper.

Posted by anonymousblonde at 02:39 PM