POLKA DOT SOCKS

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POLKA DOT SOCKS
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”

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