I inspected my chimichanga to make sure the expressionless waiter got my order right. I knew it’d be at least another twenty minutes before I’d see him again, the little jerk. I looked over at Tammi Gymnastics, who was staring at her mushroom appetizer warily. “If you clearly can’t stand people,” I began, “then why be a waiter? By the way, those shrooms are really good if you like garlic.” “Oh thanks,” Tammi snarled. “In the twenty-five or so years that we’ve known each othah, I’m glad you just guessed whether or not I like garlic.” She pulled down her miniskirt a little since the preteens sitting next to us at the bar were gawking. I didn’t bother fidgeting with mine – the kids were obviously annoyed with their parents, so I figured they needed some sort of entertainment while they dined. “Lick my legs, boys,” I growled with my best duck-face. Tammi howled with laughter, and resolutely hiked her skirt back up. Our food had just arrived, and we were already into our third margaritas. “At least the bartender knows what’s up,” I bitchily remarked before licking salt off the side of my glass. Tammi shot back, “Will you quit complaining about the fucking waitah? He may hate people, but he’s gotta pay bills juz’ like you do.”
I took a bite out of a roasted Serrano pepper, and let my mouth light up. “Mmmmm,” I moaned, “The spice makes me feel so alive.” The ecstasy was finally kicking in. Tammi tugged at my hair a little, and I giggled. I grabbed her left hand and began massaging it, so she reached over with her right paw and scratched my back with her ludicrously long nails. We carried on like this for about a minute until the vacant waiter appeared out of nowhere to fill up our water glasses. I was about to say something antagonistic, but Tammi shushed me. Our drinks were gone, and neither of us was even hungry anymore, so we split the tab and bailed.
When we walked out of the restaurant, the afternoon light and heat instantly made me sick. I dry-heaved a little, but quickly pulled it together. We had some time to kill before getting ready to go to the bar later in the evening; so I lit a cigarette, and we made our way towards the river. On our walk, Tammi grabbed my arm and pointed to the Blockbuster Video parking lot, where a hooker was strolling away from a john’s car. The john left behind in the Dodge Caravan looked disappointed and sweaty. I noticed him eye me and Tammi hungrily, so I made her pick up the pace. “But my feet fucking kill already!” she protested. “My feet are fine, you wimp,” I snapped, “If your dogs are barking, then remove your fugly heels.” Tammi actually looked hurt by this insult, so I squeezed her hand and burped, “Just kidding. Your shoes are fabulous.”
As we approached the river, Tammi swatted away a swarm of gnats that were flying around her face and then suddenly let out an audible sigh. She looked over, and gave me a look that left me perplexed: was she hungry now? Did she lock one of the kids in the gym again? Did she want to kiss me? We were both pretty fucked up, so her expression was difficult to gauge. There was a tense silence for a minute or two, and I started getting physically uncomfortable. Tammi took one last drag off her Virginia Slim, and flicked it into the river. She coughed, and then stated, “I don’t want to be alone anymore.” “What!?” I responded breathlessly. “Nonsense...we’ve got each other. And why trip out about being alone now, anyways? Do you really think ecstasy’s good for that?” I shuddered a little, and slouched into myself. “It’s true!” Tammi cracked. “I may even wanna a kid or two.” My jaw just about hit the ground. I rubbed my temples slowly, and stared deep into the river…
Being slutty has gone from a mere hobby into actually being part of my identity now. I’m totally fine with that because it suits my immediate man needs, and it keeps my mind off work. I hate even having to point out what should be obvious, but this isn’t a self-esteem issue. I just like fucking. Men don’t boost my self-worth any more than I boost theirs. Tammi has always agreed, and we really have had so many phenomenal conversations about all the suckers out in the world that think marriage and kids are the ultimate measuring stick of life’s fulfillment.
Most of my girlfriends are married off, and several of them have kids now. I rarely see them, and I think I understand why: they have a hard time relating to me, and I find it increasingly difficult to relate to them. We all used to be able to find common ground back when I was married (or even back when I was in a long-term relationship), but now, ‘Single Ashlee’ serves more as a slutty curiosity to them than anything else. What’s weird is that in retrospect, I don’t even get why I had girlfriends back when I was married because I clearly hated my life and it showed. I mean, fuck, my marriage distressed me so bad that the last time I gave my husband a blowjob, I accidentally barfed on him. You read that correctly! That part of my life still scares the shit out of me, and while I try not to hold convictions, I don’t see making a massive mistake like getting married in my near future at all.
And kids! Sweet Jesus, I’ve never, ever, ever, ever wanted them ever. I’m pro-kid (sort of), and enjoy being around them (I guess), but that’s where it ends for me. Down the line, I suppose I could see myself dating a divorced dude that already has kids, but even then I have some reservations. I truly believe that any father could do better than select me as a mother-figure type. I realize I’m spouting pure drivel, but the bottom line is I’ve got a cat that I love. Between Sofia, a clean bill-of-health, and my independence, I don’t need much else.
… After a long deliberation, I choked up a little, and said, “Look Tammi, if you don’t want to be alone anymore, there’s no reason why you should be. If you want to pop some kids out, then go for it. If those two things will make you happy, then I’m 100% behind your decisions.” Tammi turned slowly towards me, her eyes near black from dilation. With a look of bewilderment, she slurred, “What the fuck? Did I say that stuff? These drugs are sick.”
No comments:
Post a Comment