Menses

I stopped getting my menses quite some time ago. I believe my body ceased producing eggs once Humphrey died. It knew there was no point anymore. There was really no point to begin with as I find children unbearable, but perhaps my body did not communicate with my brain in that regard. Humphrey always wanted children. He would always ask me "why I was so barren?" And "what's going on with my empty uterus?" He wanted me to visit a doctor. I refused. Doctor's are very helpful with things like sneezes and warts, but not for lady problems. A man trying to fix a lady problem! I have never heard of such nonsense. And besides, I rarely let Humphrey take a look at my lady parts. I certainly wasn't going to let some old man doctor inside there.

In reality, I was happy that my uterus refused to conceive. I hated Humphrey so and the thought that a part of him would outlive me was too much to bear. Don't get me wrong, I didn't know for sure that he would die before me. But I had my suspicions. One, he was extremely fat. And two, sometimes I poisoned him. Not a lot, just sometimes he wanted me to take trips with him or do something "as a couple" so I would agree but then slip a little poison in his dinner the night before so he would be too sick to go.

I thought my menses were coming back. I felt a terrible pain in my stomach. I couldn't eat and sitting was uncomfortable. I phoned my friend Carole who thought it was absurd that my menses would return. She laughed and laughed. I hate Carole so much. The pain was so terrible that I had to spend the entire day on my back, in front of a fan, with a cold compress on my head. I realized later that it was the result of a sit-up I had done earlier that morning.

Hair Cut

Today I received a hair cut. Well, in truth, I like to have my hair cut everyday. I believe a woman's hair should extend 2 inches past her shoulders. Any less and she looks too mannish and anymore she looks like a whore. I was adventurous once and decided to cut my hair very short. It was all the fashion in those days. A short bob, or a flip do, or a springy marguerite. The springy marguerite was especially difficult to attain. You would sleep in your curlers with slightly damp hair overnight. Then in the morning you would brush it all out. Then you would take two strands of hair on either sides of your face and curl them tightly with a hot press curler. You would let them stand for at least one hour and then brush them out as well. The girls with springy marguerites were very popular. My mother told me that a springy marguerite was an "invitation for sin." My mother would examine my hair every morning to make sure it did not resemble a springy marguerite. She measured it's length, ensuring it sent the right message to any male suitors. Then she covered my hair with a scarf and sometimes insisted I wear a hat as well.

When I married Humphrey and left my mother's house I decided to cut my hair very short. When Humphrey saw my hair he called me a lesbian. He then called me fat and later called me a lesbian again. Humphrey made me wear a wig to bed as he said that if he woke up next to a woman with short hair he might mistake her for a man and smother her. He preferred that I wear a red wig. Which I did not like because he often wanted to engage sexually with me when I wore it. I eventually cut the red wig short as to inhibit any unwarranted advances.

Turn That Frown Upside

Today someone told me that my ankles looked suspiciously large. It was my doctor. Apparently a person's ankles should not widen past the width of the same person's thighs. I thought that this measurement hinted at a bit of pseudo-science, witch-doctor, pyramid scheme, mumbo jumbo. But when the doctor's face grew grave and I saw tears forming in his eyes, I thought I had better listen to what he had to say.

Then the doctor said I should lose some weight. He said that I should stop drinking so much sherry before bed and in the morning and before doctor's appointments. Then he printed out some young person's diet I am to follow. I felt very betrayed by this doctor, who is Saul's nephew's friend, basically a relative. And what's worse, he asked me to disrobe! Do you think I am overweight or do you want to have a good, hard look at the goodies? It was rather confusing.

At the end of the day, I have learned a couple things from my experience with "doctor" Morningside. The first is that larger ankles are more sturdy for walking and especially good for sitting, which is what I use them for most. Also, Saul and I need to have a long discussion about this new younger man in my life with a penchant for large ankles.

Working

Working is for poor people. I know, I know. That is an obvious observation. But when people with any self respect try and work it never ends up quite right. I recently entered the job market. My first attempt at employment was working for this very fat, small man who would constantly give me things to do. Sometimes I did not want to do the things he requested. For example, calling people on the telephone. If someone wants to talk to me they call me. End of story. I am not going to intrude on someone else's' privacy by calling them on the telephone. And in the middle of the day. No, no, no, no. I wasn't raised that way. I was raised to call people at 4pm. Only. This is right before dinner and one to three hours into cocktail time. This way whoever you are calling is in the right frame of mind to receive whatever news you have, good or bad.

Also, this fat small man always stunk of soup. But he did eat a lot of soup. I also like soup, but only creamed corn soup, which is essentially creamed corn with more cream. Today I begin employment at an animal shelter. I hate animals. But I do like certain animal prescriptions, so I am hopeful.

Don't Stare at Me

Today a man stared at me. I looked at him while he was looking at me but I turned away when I saw he was looking at me. Then I looked back a few seconds later, assuming he had turned his head, but he hadn't. He was still looking at me. This made me quite uncomfortable. I had worn a fair amount of makeup, so I knew I looked my best. My hat had the perfect amount of feathers in it and my dress was well past my knees. I could not think of another reasons why this man was staring at me.

I then thought that perhaps my hair was tangled. So I discreetly brushed my hair with my fingers. When I looked up the man was still staring at me. I started to feel very hot. Perhaps this man meant to murder me, or worse, take me sexually. Or even worse, stare at me even longer.

Perhaps I should leave the bus? That is what I thought to myself. But I can't get off the bus, there won't be another bus for fifteen minutes. And I don't want to stand on the corner alone. Whenever a lady is alone there are certain presumptions about the lady. I generally try and stand with others if at all possible. When it is not possible I pretend to talk on the phone. I do not believe in mobile phones of course, so I fold a piece of paper in four and pretend it is a phone. It looks quite real.

As my panic began to bubble inside me the man finally got off the bus. I realized after he pulled out a walking stick device that he was blind. I wish blind people would shut their eyes or wear sunglasses. The whole ordeal was quite unnerving.

I ate a hamburger today

I ate a hamburger today. I didn't want to, but the man I am seeing - Saul - he insisted. I enjoyed it but I spit it out even so. I didn't want Saul to know how much I liked hamburgers. Because I do. I really do. I eat them when I am sad. And when I am not as sad. Sometimes I put cheese on them, and when I have no cheese I put chips on them. Not American chips. French chips. Or English.

I am full from my hamburger. Not the one with Saul. I spit that one out. I ate two at home and I put cheese on both of them. I will have nightmares tonight. Meat makes me have nightmares. But the nightmares remind me of how fragile life is and they make me realize that if my life could end at any moment, I might as well enjoy the company of Saul, who is very boring. But it is better than being lonely before you die.

Casinos - not the Indian kind

I went to a Casino tonight. And not the Indian kind. American Indians...not the kind with the dots on their heads. The kind who wear headdresses and invented Thanksgiving. Not the kind who make naan and hummus, the kind who live on reservations and drink too much. The kind that will give you a pay day loan. Not the kind that use a lot of curry in their food and where dresses they call apologies. The kind who dance half-naked in front of fires and drink peyote...or eat it? What is peyote? I know what alcohol is and I know what happens when you drink too much of it. Ha ha...so do Indians! Not the Indians that answer phones for AT&T. The kind that cry when their land is stolen and have a bunch of tribes that are all named after Casinos.

So I went to a casino! Not the Indian kind. The kind that the state owns to help give money to black children. Is Casino capitalized? Sometimes I want to capitalize it and sometimes I don't. I am not a writer, so I don't know every word that is supposed to be capitalized. I mean, it isn't as if there is some kind of rule. You just have to memorize the words that need to be capitalized. And that is a lot of work for someone like me. Not that I am afraid of a lot of work. I just don't like it or want to do it. It's not like a spider that I jump away from. It just isn't something I want to do. Carole has to work. I don't think anyone has to work if they don't want to. But she says she does because she wants attention. Carole always wants attention. I mean, who doesn't I suppose. But Carole is boring and her work is boring and her shoes are boring. She likes brown shows. I like pink shoes. Most of my pink shoes have bows on them but some have diamonds on them. The diamonds are fake but sometimes I lie and say they are real. I like the attention.