Sexy Scars, Here I Come
Thursday, April 27, 2006
I can walk again! Or shuffle at a human pace, at least. I still had to bring my cane/killer nunchakus with me to the mall and pretend to be dependent on it so we could use the handicapped parking space, though. My grandparents can be sneaky bastards.
I left them to have my mandatory coffee-space out time and noticed a few things.
1.
Taking off from Den’s coffee cup name post, I realized that the cashiers never get my name right, either. The version they use the most is
Marjie. Call me crazy, but this isn’t exactly the most common spelling of my name. When I say “Margie,” I really don’t understand why they believe that “j” is more accurate than “g.” I don’t know anyone named Marjie. I have yet to read a story with a Marjie in it. I know a number of Margies. I’ve read of several Margies. Their misspelling my name doesn’t irk me, really (I have much bigger problems with my full name), but I just don’t get it.
2.
Way back in high school, Marie and I used to play this game during our Friday homeleaves. The moment the coaster dropped us off at Megamall, we would start counting the number of people with red baseball caps on. We’d reach pretty high numbers, and it amazed us that just concentrating on one object can make you conscious of how common they are. Today, I played the game with canes and reached a pretty good number, too, although most of the cane-wielders were either very, very old or very, very fat. In fact, the tables to my left and right had these granddaddies with canes similar to mine. We made a cute row.
3.
It’s rude to stare. My table was outside, and there was this guy on the sidewalk that just kept looking at my leg with disgust. I went out with no bandages on since my wounds were at that dry yet tender stage where it would be better to air them out. I freaked other people out, but they didn’t glare at me with as much contempt as that guy. There were three things I could’ve done at that moment:
a) raise my eyebrow or throw him some catty look
b) look down and pretend he doesn’t exist
c) hobble towards him, cane in the air, and scream ghetto-style, “You grossed out now, motherfucker?!! You grossed out now?!?!?!???”
I did letter b, which I now regret. Almost did a and should’ve done c.
4.
The outgoing, scented pen-wielding teenage homosexuals are out in full force! I was first harrassed by them after the Sea Monkey-showing with Pubey Boy, and then after that with Twinkle a few days ago, and then they were at it again today. I know that there are plenty of other kids trying to sell shit or get donations from others at malls, but this particular group just fascinates me. They’re all below twenty years old, gay, and claim to be part of this self-improvement camp. It’s so seedy. I love it.
5.
The pre-sneeze on my knee is still there. Arrpgjrpfjsdjdjipohfdihiohf.
posted by marguerite @ 3:47 PM
|
