Yesterday's bonne surprise was a postcard from Egypt, or as my foreign friend says, Egitto.Today I talked with Friend, who had to endure The Breakup Conversation with one of two girls he's dating. Friend broke it down thusly: she did all the "right things" and was therefore exactly not his type.
"What are the 'right things'?" I needed to know.
"The right things are stopping after two drinks; needing to study for med boards; calling me and asking 'how my day was'; being concerned about me."
I was sort of alarmed. The "wrong things", and accordingly, the ones attractive to him, are when she can drink like a sailor, is quirky, off the cuff and easy... going.
I felt that I was sort of doomed. Am I one of those "right things" girls? Have I lost my edge? By doing those "right things," inadvertently or not, have I entered an age bracket of women who are pleasant, well-meaning, and pathetically in search of The One (or The Juan, as Friend says)? But on the flip side, how much longer can you be the vomiting party girl with the lower back tattoo that is so old it's sporting stretch marks? It's not like that girl has so much fulfillment either as her head hangs over the bed wondering why she drank so much Grey Goose the night before. (That's a random example, I'm not at all talking about the Montmartre thing.) Right things, wrong things, I'm still convinced that a girl can really have it all and be it all, at any age. It's Friend who has to catch up!
So I start a revolution from my bed
'Cause you said the brains I had went to my head.
Step outside, summertime's in bloom.
Stand up beside the fireplace,
Take that look from off your face.
You ain't ever gonna burn my heart out.
posted by Lucy Sloan @ 10:45 PM
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