Cigarettes and Roses
I'm a lucky girl.
I never used to think so. After Robert and I came to such an "unpleasant" ending, it's no wonder that I got a little desperate. A little crazy. Ha! Don't we all?
Some girls don't need a man. I do.
You know, Seymour was the first guy I didn't feel desperate to hook. He's the only man I didn't have to chase to get him to show some interest. We just sort of fell for each other, no manipulation, no artifice; just the right moment at the right time, the right connection in a little pink playhouse.
That's going to be quite a story to tell our children.
Ha! I doubt we'll have them, and somehow I doubt the two of us would be good parents. Seymour's in love with order, and I've had more than my fill of kids over the past few years. Not that I'm not tempted, now and again. There are days that go by which fill me up in anxious dread, which leaves when I'm finally alone with Seymour at the end of the day.
The children; he loves them. And for me, it's a love affair that dips into hatred now and again.
Oh, they can be mean-spirited, and they certainly don't listen to me. But I can remember off-hand every little prank Bart Simpson has played on me. I know exactly how many times I've sent him off to the principle's office.
On his better days, you know, I actually like him. Those are usually the days where, engaged in a battle to regain control of his brain from his father's howler monkey-level genetics, something I've said breaks through his willful nature. He wants to learn, and it catches me by surprise now and again. Is that cruel to think?
I'm tempted to fool myself into thinking he'll make something of himself one day. Maybe that's because he has the potential, bubbling up underneath all of his attitude, his brag and his boast.
But hey, who to say what's going to come up? I'm willing to settle into right now. Struggle at one end of the day, pleasure at the other.
For cigarettes in the afternoon and roses at night.