judge and jury

so i bought a new pair of shoes.
pinkish, like a caucasian baby's bottom.

try to make the faces you made in baby photos, you look like a parody of yourself.

i do this in the privacy of my own closet. but my cheeks just aren't that big anymore and i can't make those cute little fists with my hands.

have to have a new dress to "go" with the shoes (because shoes don't match, they "go," like purses "go" and bragh. that has a go.). this is something you learned recently.

learn too late the wonders of a baking sheet.

consider the possibility of agoraphobia. how you waited off to the side until you were sure your neighbor had made it in the door and up the stairs before you even thought about putting your key in the lock.

and on your birthday (not mine) half of the moon threatened to fall on the earth, framed between two buildings and the horizon and the sky and all you (i) could think about was cookie monster's seranade, "if moon was cookie..."

smokers can be "chippers" so shoppers can be too, right?

get riled up over the game, even while lying in bed, and having missed most of it. make up for the day's early excitement with a nap, make up for a nap with a trip "out," buy shoes. buy fries. stimulate the economy, one empty purchase at a time.

you have to wonder why anyone would get their eyebrows threaded in such a public place.

consider the vulgarity of a woman's body. it makes you shiver, a little.

and you were making good progress until you got caught up on trying to find a way to describe the sound of mandarin, spoken.

there were things you forgot to ask but hope to, next time.

remember the weather is never your friend, it's not anyone's friend, and it doesn't care how long it took you to do your hair.

and in the past week, three unrelated people have told you to smile. you start to wonder what's wrong with your face. the last one said, "those are nice sunglasses, they'd be nicer with a smile." so you smile, but not because you are flattered.