by Monica Hall

6:00 a.m. and I fumble for the alarm clock.

Jimmie is already up.

I hate him for the easy way he awakens.

I fight for every extra second of sleep.

I make a face and Jimmie responds.

Cheer up, it’s Saturday.

I close my eyes for a minute.

A minute which lasts two hours.

I dress leisurely.

Slowly pulling up black socks with small white polka dots.

I am pleased, for they match nicely with my grey Converse.

Coupled with my black polka dot blouse,

I feel like a character from Cry Baby.

My favorite Johnny Depp movie.

Being that it is Saturday, I go commando.

Fashion? Glamour? I don’t give a rip.

No longer a young woman, I am finally adequate.

I pity those certain young ladies.

Who buy the lie, as did I.

Excessive makeup, chemicals, waxing, curling, straightening, starving,

In an effort to appear “naturally” beautiful.

I read a survey in a women’s magazine.

They are notorious for selling the lie.

“Food or sex?” was the question.

Ridiculous to make one choose.

Naturally I choose both.

First, a juicy burger with Swiss on a brioche.

My lover will taste the red onion on my breath.

And he will know the truth.

A dalliance on an empty stomach.

Is not as good.

A girlfriend laments “I spent $175 at a spa yesterday”.

“I just wanted to feel pretty”, she justifies.

“Pricey”, I comment.

“Any suggestions?” she frowns.

“Of course” I continue.

“Buy socks, ditch the panties, eat a burger and see what happens”

1 thought on “POLKA DOT SOCKS

  1. Good last line. Positively. Being yourself is being at your best. The problem being finding out who yourself is, which is why we adopt media versions.

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