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Sometimes, in the middle of the night, my Prozac-addled mother starts dusting downstairs. I contemplate this as I sit in my bathtub with a crack in its bottom. I hope I drown.
“You shouldn’t take baths any longer than necessary,” my father told me in his pipsqueak voice at family-meeting time yesterday. “We aren’t sure where the water is going.”
He’s pretty sure it’s doing structural damage to the house.
He keeps forgetting to call the plumber.
Every since my girlfriend dumped me, I have been reading my horoscope. Today said, “Sagittarius: Today is a day to take a load off. Pamper yourself. Try to stay away from the news, however, as the outside world may clash with you today.”
The water level in my bathtub was half an inch higher twenty minutes ago. Surely my marshmallow ass is widening the tear. My parents will know I was responsible; the smell of my tangerine moisturizer is a dead giveaway.
The cordless phone rings and I pick it up. I hope I get electrocuted.
“Edward’s Cheese Factory,” I say.
“Are you the head of the household?” a voice of indiscriminate sex asks.
“Yes,” I lie.
“I’m doing a survey for the newspaper,” the voice gushes. I think it is male. Who pays these poor people? I can’t imagine anyone ever sitting around participating in phone surveys. Except for maybe really lonely people, but that’s not a very accurate poll.
“I’m sorry,” I say, “but my horoscope says I can’t interact with the outside world today.” I glance down at my naked body and decide never to get in my bathing suit again – unless I’m at a nude beach with hideous people.
“Excuse me? ... This will just take a moment of your time, sir.” I think it is a very young man, just hitting puberty, perhaps. I hang up the phone and place it silently back onto the floor.
I go back to the day she dumped me. My horoscope that day read, “Sagittarius: Today is not a good day to have relationship discussions with your significant other. Give it a few days to cool off.” That’s when I realized that they were for real.
It’s okay; I don’t regret it.
I just feel like I want to lose enough weight to fall though this crack at the bottom of my bathtub. Sometimes.
I hear pop music and I hate them and their body hair and their sweat. I hate computer-altered voices and latex. And songs where, after the end, I can’t even tell if they were supposed to be love songs or not.
My lips are always chapped. My friends rarely call.
I want to run a marathon or hibernate.
Most of the water is draining into the tired innards of my house.
I would vote if only I cared. I would buy porn if I were interested. I would buy cigarettes if they weren’t so costly, and if God swore to me personally I’d never get addicted.
If I drowned here, some poor sap would have to haul my flabby body out of the tub. It would be a whole scene and my parents would be humiliated.
The water really is noticeably diminishing. If only I were that girl from Nickelodeon who could turn herself into puddles at will. I’d do it, too. I’d spy on my ex.
My parents are going to have to pay a lot of money for the water damage. Mold will probably grow in weird places and make the place unlivable.
I must get out now. I am a Sagittarius and have pampered myself enough for today.