So, my birthday is just around the corner and this is what I want:
The Stun Master
100,000 volts for a very reasonable $22.00 at http://tasersforladies.com. It even comes in leopard print and pink. I want pink.
I have a lot of reasons for wanting one, safety, of course, for myself, and Zephyr–(see “Pomeranian’s Have Teeth”)–but also for completely unreasonable reasons: I’m tired of people running me over, invading my space. Just this afternoon a man nearly knocked me over in the paint aisle at Home Depot. He crossed his arm under my nose reaching at a paint chip. His wife came from over his shoulder and reached even further, sliding against me, before I intervened an, “excuse me. Do you think you could give me a moment here . . . ” It was awful. They were dreadful and unbelievably rude. They snorted a “we’re in a hurry,” which is code for: I’m very self important, and manners don’t count, and move. RUDE!!!!! I was then rattled, invaded, walked over and really, really pissed off. Hence, I want the damn stun gun. And don’t think I won’t use it.
My space is wider than most maybe. But the people who crowd me seem to have this passive-aggressive energy: “the-world-is-mine-and-I-will-bulldoze-you-out-of-my-way” energy. In this city they are the norm. They tail you on the freeway, stand on your heels in a grocery line, sit right next to you in a movie theatre, gab on their cell phones in the library. They’re dreadful people. Someone should really do something about them. Honestly.
Some people really don’t understand my need for space. They’re “people” people, the more the merrier–parties, concerts, big sports events, tractor pulls, Disney World. It’s all the same–noise, crowding, odor, claustrophobia–they love it, I guess. I would prefer a root canal. Give me a wide open park, an empty football field, a meadowy landscape, The Loneliest Road in America–Highway 50, 287 miles of nothing across the open Nevada desert. Love it. It’s all about breathing, emptiness, space.
Back to Home Depot. Obviously, I’m not getting “Space” in the mall, the city, the grocery store, but can I have a few feet? I don’t want to smell your cologne, mouthwash, pastrami sandwich, deodorant flavor. Double yuck. And how’s about 30 seconds of patience before you reach over my body for whatever it is that your in such a big frigging hurry to grab? I don’t think I’m asking for much here. The world would be a better place with a little less reaching and grabbing.
Maybe, my presence is too weak. I should jut my shoulders, wear higher heels. I get more space when I have Zephyr, but Zephyr is getting older. I need to protect him from the same crowders. I’m liking the stun gun idea a lot. Go ahead, scooch me over in the veggie aisle to grab a tomato, BZZZZZ. . . . and it’s nappy time under the broccoli myster for you.
I like the whole rifle slung over your shoulder thing too, a bit cumbersome, but I bet that would give me some space. Do that whole Sharon Stone “get out of Dodge” thing. It could work, except really, I hate carrying a purse, anything heavier, would just be more crap to carry. And what do I do with my coffee? I’d just look like one more crazed mother with too many bags and straps and stuff slung over my shoulder. Not really practical. Hm . . . what is a 40-something, premenopausal, fed up and pissed off girl to do?
I’m telling you the stun gun. . . and I hear it will even fit in a makeup bag. How fricking practical is that? I bet a woman came up with it–a woman in need of a little space.
* * *
Space, of course, is alive
That’s why it moves about.
And that’s what makes it eternally spacious and unstuffy.
And somewhere it has a wild heart
that sends pulses even through me;
And I call it the sun;
And I feel aristocratic, noble, when I feel
a pulse go through me
from the wild heart of space, that I call the sun of suns.”