#monkey bicycle

I take a break and drink Dr. Pepper through a Twizzler. I watch ten minutes of my favorite movie on TV and lip-sync Molly Ringwald: “I loathe the bus.” I know every word by heart. Sixteen Candles is my Star Wars. I hop in the shower and assure myself that behind every good woman is a little back fat. I cry because I don’t have the upper arm strength to flat-iron my hair. I mascara my grey roots. I smoke my eyes. I paint my lips. I drown my sorrows with Chanel No. 5. At the party, I kiss my husband hello. I loathe guests who sneeze into the crooks of their elbows. I can’t be convinced that winter whites is a thing. I study long-married couples and decide that wives are like bras: sometimes the most matronly are the most supportive. I say, “I’d watch a show called Ghost Hoarders. Why is that not a show?”