Leggo My Ego

I could hear the ice cubes tap dancing on the bottom of a highball as he continued.

Well, for me, what happened is I just became - I just got into deconstructionism. I just became - I just started poisoning myself and I didn’t have to work for a while. I drank. Partied. I had a lot of fun. Did a lot of things that one would associate with the word fun. But after a fairly short period of time it was just like “what the fuck am I doin” (laughing) “ya know? It was horrible.”

So, well I actually turned out to probably be worse than I was before. But I can - and you can too - both of us can accept change. And I already know this about you. I know folks that really struggle with change and then there are some people that deal with it really well and transition into different things without trauma. And you’re obviously one of those people who can do that.

And I can do that. I can transition and I can do it in a way that’s cool. So you could see me as someone, if you knew me for a long period of time, you would say “this guy’s really transitioned in different ways at different times. and yet he seems to do it in a somewhat effortless way.” I see you as being that way. That’s probably why you wanted to come talk to me is you could just sense it.

His recognizance was charming. This hadn’t been the case for the entirety of our conversation.

* * * 

Unfortunately for us we’re programmed to be consumers so theres an organic nature to human consumption that is, I think, baked in the cake. And that’s a hard one to fight off.

He explained. Before I expressed a timid disagreement.

Well look at you. You’re well turned out: that’s an interesting bag, your shoes are cute, your nails are perfect, you’ve got your black thing - this thing you’ve got on here. You’re very studied. You’ve got your thing in your hair. It’s red. I don’t know, is that natural color?

Mister Chambers you forget yourself! My ego and my bottle-red hair protested, silently and onto bitten tongue but without any lack of passion, scowling in spot-on humiliation.

“Oh. no. because... I’m-gray” made a mad dash past my lips, in a hurried escape.

Okay. Ya see. Well - you know - you’re a commercial girl.

“Oh no.”

Oh yeah!

“I have a couple ...” (I began, dramatically trivializing my wardrobe) “ ... of outfits other than this.”

Well you, you’re ...

“Not so fast Mister” - I thought to myself; teeth still clamping down on my tongue. Then I continued out loud, much louder in fact but without any further embellishment:

“I don’t go to the salon. I color my own hair. And I’ve had these shoes for like 7 years. And they’re one of a few pairs that I wear. When my AC went out... I went to Lowes and bought some window units because I just didn’t think that several thousand dollars was something I needed to spend to stay cool when I could solve the problem for three hundred. And then I could go somewhere, or have a new experience. I live a pretty utilitarian life so that I can ..."

Well let me say this.

He interrupted, perhaps eyeing the passion mark between my eyes beginning to burn bright scarlet. And, fortunately for me, before I had a chance to deliver my Ode-to-Julia-Sugarbaker table-pounding argument.

* My bag is a hand-me-down. This thing in my hair! is a reminder of a trip that I took to see my friend Amber. It is the ONLY thing that I bought. At J. Crew - which speaks volumes because Mickey Drexler is a god-damned GENIUS. And my toes are perfect because the last time I was kissed there was snow on the ground and I would very much like to do even more than that some time soon. And I have noticed, Mister Chambers, that men like to kiss red toenails when they are engaged in all that “more than kissing.” But I can assure you - from the top of that thing in my hair to the tip of my perfect toenails - NONE of that makes me a “COMMERCIAL,” as you put it, girl. * 

I was keenly aware of my relief over the interruption & the aforementioned argument remaining unspoken.

 Because what followed was actually quite wonderful.