Last night I was madly upset, but earlier than that I stole a pineapple from a burlesque show.

I got the Real Woman talk again last night. The one that says I Cherish You But You’re Not For Fun. The Adult Elegance talk, the You’re Evil But Untouchable. I Want You But I Am Going To Go Home With her Because She Is Not As Important As You Are.

Somehow it’s satisfying, it’s a flattery I can only and utterly respect. It quells the worries that spring up whenever I spend the majority of my time with young people that perhaps they are rubbing off on me in ways that I don’t want them to, eroding my prescience with their uncountable dramas, but amusingly, it irks me too. In a completely irrational, very female way. I am fully aware, yes, that kissing me isn’t like kissing most girls, but do you have to point it out? I would like to at least occasionally pretend that I could be permissive too.



Also, Three dozen trained killer dolphins have escaped and may be armed. True fact.

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