American darlings like to wear long socks, and Mary Jane’s. British darlings have tea-stained teeth. It is easy to tell them apart, even when they do not speak. It is all in the face. There are peer-reviewed studies to support these words.
Everything will end up on a person’s face, from yesterday’s dinner, to the disappointment of love. In fact, I knew a man that I wanted to know more than that. I meant to tell him about the small puddle of affection that I felt for him, but I got very busy. In the blink of an eye, one full year had passed. In that time, he got repeatedly upset over things like flat tires, phone bills, and overcooked chicken. His face began to resemble a Halloween mask. I could not decide whether to wear him, or start speaking in Latin, while dousing him with holy water.
When the worst thing I can do is listen, I listen. I used to wear beads to have something to count, believing numbers meant something. My brother is laughing, I can hear him. It makes me happy, because it lets me know he is still alive. This gets to be too much, so I go out into the world, where I experience moments that begin and end awkwardly:
I am not interested in that beer, thank you. I don’t drink, because I am a very troubled, recovering alcoholic. I am dark like a lump of coal. I am not interested in having sex with you, either. I don’t have sex on the first date, or the tenth. Sometimes, not ever. I am a huge lesbian. I am deeply into lesbianism. I have read every book on the subject, gone to five conferences, and just as many parades. Besides, I am much shorter than you, and this would present many challenges. Also, I am mentally delayed, and don’t think having a relationship with me is legal. Yes, you are attractive and charming, but I only want to make terrible decisions. Finally, I hate being hit on.