Women: A Collection of Days

Tuesday, 11:30am: The woman with yellowish hair the texture of dog fur pushes the wand inside me from side to side. She whispers “wow”and pauses for a moment. Do you see that? she says, pointing to the glinting dark screen in front of her.

Thursday, 7:15pm: The woman having pasta is telling me about plastic surgery, how it doesn’t really hurt, how they could remove the scars along my chin with just a chemical peel. It’s an outpatient procedure, she says to me.

Friday, 1:35pm: The woman sitting with her legs folded across from me asks me why I can’t wait for sex, why I have to have it right now. I notice the plant behind her desk is beginning to lose color along the lips of the leaves.

Saturday, 11pm: The woman on my cell phone says no one will ever love her because she’s too fat. It’s starting to rain as I reach my front door and I can see my breath. The woman says, you know? and I nod, forgetting she can’t see me.

Sunday, 10am: The woman inside the escalator tells me to have a nice day. She repeats this a few times. Gatorade sloshes inside my throat, but won’t go down.