Is something some bristle-lipped yellowing mustache yells down from a higher tier,
“We’ve got a fucking quota to make!”
Production line, humanity as ants and all of those expectations of making the part, being worthy only if you can slice and dice yourself in all of the right ways, prepare yourself as a balanced pizza pie. I hold this degree, therefore I am worthy, I married and had my next producer’s and so yes, I am routine, I pay my property taxes, I never get a speeding ticket, I am that kind of woman who smiles despite and always tries to go the extra mile, let the person who is behaving badly, who spittle-spattles in my face, his eyes painted in disdain and rolling with contempt, the benefit of the doubt.
No doubt he’s suffering some atrocity within his own home and who am I to judge? I ought to be so thankful that I’ve got a roof over my head, always something to eat even if it’s pinto beans and purple cabbage several nights a week. Two husbands now gone who fought child support who happily moved into my nearly paid for house and set about putting their foot(s) down.
My daughter is now bucking under the constraints, the demands of being just right and how can she still be a feminist when her tall boyfriend can’t decide which sex he’s most attracted to? Which equates to, a rolling of roles, is she the man or the woman? Does she do ALL, both earn the money and take command?
He has no job, can’t afford to buy a two dollar egg roll, takes her debit card into the liquor store to purchase $49 of half gallons and cigarettes instead of a $10 Rothschild. Now, he’ll sleep in after showing her nudes to a party of pit bull gamers, she rushing out the door by eight to cut up shark brains in her college biology class before working a seven hour food running shift at the local brew pub where men in their fifties will hug her too tight getting a picture with the babe, the cool, steely gray of the Columbia River passing silently behind the thick, tourist fingered glass, his buddies leaving dirty remarks on his Instagram feed,
“Looks like you’re really coming up in Astoria!”
Photo Credit: Josh Rocklage/unsplash
