yesterday, there we were again, my sister like the ant, diligently following the routine, and me the grasshopper diligently trying trip her up when suddenly…I got into it. with the volume down it’s not as tempting to ridicule.
once i got past the cheese barrier, i was awed at the efficiency. last time i had grooves like these was after swimming hard for 30 minutes or doing interval sprints up-hill.
i’m psyched at how clever this is!
Exactly what am I, or anyone, supposed to make of these gender swapped “compliments”? I don’t know if they’re necessarily better than a shot through the heart of flat-out rejection. Isn’t this euphemistically calling someone f*in’ ugly for their gender?
Gentlewomen & ladies, level with me: if I lauched “handsome” in your direction, would you launch in mine a kiss or a fist? Would you look at me looking at you with admiration or contempt?
Perhaps a beauty exists so transcendental that its possesor receives either description as a compliment … no other than Mango comes to mind.
Everything she says plays like the notes on a harmonica, perfectly in tune, never dissonant, always what I expect yet never what I can guess. To talk to her is to walk on air.
I hope she never finds this out, for fear that this delicate chemistry of ours might collapse under romantic expectations. I want to keep what I have more than wanting what I don’t.