1. My professor is of the best of the most loathsome kind- smug and sarcastic enough for one to tire of almost instantly, but accurate and astute often enough to resist ignoring. He is 55 at least, with a slight paunch and an accidentally speckled salt and pepper ponytail tied with a household rubber band. His outie belly button frequently bulges through his sloppily tucked in polo shirt, and I wonder if anyone else in the class notices, before I realize that I'm staring at him and he's unabashedly studying me back as he speaks.
We're reading Pygmalion aloud, and though his brazen, sexual style seems to declare the opposite, he demands essays and reflection almost entirely on the love between the characters.
'What is it that you ladies hate most? What is it that this character, seemingly a gentleman, done in this simple speech to her?'
'Told her how she feels'- its a mutter, but there are only 7 of us (i've never actually taken a formal count) and my half self reflective, half subconsciously textually analytical statement is clearly audible.
'It usually takes far longer' he says, with a look that has turned from the unabashed physical enjoyment to amusement, study, and perhaps a slight tinge of disappointment that I have ruined his game. 'Happened to you before?'
I realize with satisfaction that I am no more but a specimen, a fragment of a case study to this man who, though verbally promiscuous, is quite satisfied with the love of his wife (whom even he cannot resist subtly referencing time and again) and I smile, but he doesn't notice. He has already looked away.
2. I'm on my way home and I stop in the drug store to buy some snacks and a large canister of Metamucil for my mom. As I approach the counter with my arms full of cookies, crackers and laxatives, I wonder if the older lady who is checking me out will think I have some sort of complex binge and purge eating disorder, but she rings me up quickly with her head barely high enough to keep her chin from touching her breastbone.
3. My sister and I are facebook stalking from opposing rooms and shouting our comments back and forth. Appropriately, we quickly progress from the girlfriends of old love interests to googling the world's ugliest dogs, and we competitively search to find a more heinous creature than the last. Each time, we simultaneously shriek, run to the other's screen, and find an identical image to the one we have just left.
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