How to Fix Things Up
by
Steven Hunley
Darling,
After having it out with you this last time we decided to split. It was the Armegedon of our relationship. But I’m having a hard time of it now.
I see your pictures all over the internet. Facebook is full of the suckers. Your pictures there drive me crazy. But I have a solution.
I finally figured out how you could fix things up. You’ll have to ugly yourself up just a bit. That would really help. Turn yourself into a monster. Start at the top and work your way down.
Your hair, muss it up. Make it straighter and shorter and not so curly. Don’t give it a chance to express the wildness that is you. Tame the sucker.
You’ll have to change your mug too. Un-sensuous arch your eyebrows. Disfigure them. Dull your coconut-brown eyes a bit. Don't allow your glance to be eloquent. In the Three Musketeers d'Artagnan's glance was eloquent. Yours was too. I won't have your glance be eloquent unless you're looking at me. So make them look like rotten coconuts on an oil-spill beach. Take away the clean white sand that surrounds them. Yellow-jaundiced or blood-shot eyes would be much better. Think toxic. Think Hepatitis-eyes here. Lower your Everest-high Sir Edmund Hillary-Tensing Norgay cheekbones to sea level like most other women. Kissing them always gave me a nose-bleed anyway, so lower them. That would help too.
That ultimately feminine face full of expression will have to go. Stoney it up. Make like a statue with it. Regular Easter-island stuff. Change it so it shows no emotions. Then I could deal with it better. The worse thing about you I miss is your face.
And the mouth. Harden it up. No more Wet and Wild lipstick. Make the curve of your lips less expressive and lyrical. Your voice will have to change too. Change what you say and the way that you say it. Make it a robot voice. Make it sound like computer generated sh*t. Strangle the life right out of it. While you’re at it, thicken your throat. Remove its’ sculpting post haste. I always fell for your sculpted throat and you knew it. So what does that make me, a throat man?
Readjust the shoulders and arms. Add flab if you can. Let gravity lower your breasts. Allow them to show signs of your age, will you? Attach irons to each nipple with clothespins and strings and pull them down where they belong on a woman your age. Show them no mercy. Nature never shows any other woman’s breasts mercy so why start with you? Help nature out.
Your belly button? I don’t know about your belly button. There’s something about your belly button.
Another thing that would help me to forget you would be if you’d gain about fifty pounds. Then you could lose the curve of your waist where it flares out to your hips. You always held that against me. Do something about your hips as well, since we’re there. Let’s save time. Let’s be civilized. Let’s be god-damned sophisticated about this.
And what about your bottom? Grow it bigger. Grow it flabby. Stop taking your walks every day and sit on it more often. For hours. Flatten it out, will ya? That would really help. It would be a boon to mankind and not such a distraction to all concerned. Its’ curves are much too dangerous for casual tourists. Have mercy on mankind. Womankind would appreciate the lack of competition too.
So now the legs. They must be dealt with. Their proportions are much too perfect. Perfecto is the word for them. Reminds me of what I’m missing out on. All of you reminds me of what I’m missing out on. So definitely the legs. Make them fat, or maybe turn them up-side-down or in-side-out. Wreck their proportions with reckless abandon. That only leaves the feet.
You must do something about the feet. I don’t care how that fellow before me sucked on your toes, they’re really not so much. I can’t believe you let him do it. Still, they are a distraction, a reminder. So don’t varnish your toenails. I said varnish. In the old days they didn't say nail polish, they said nail varnish. If you don't believe me, check with Somerset Maugham. So no varnish. Instead, let them get ragged and yellow and ugly. Try for athlete’s foot, if you feel sporting. Uglying them up would be just the thing for them, and better yet, just the thing for me.
After you’re finished, take a picture and send it to me. Let me gloat to the fellas that this is the girl that threw me over, tossed me out. The one I broke up with. After they see the pictures they’ll think it no loss. They’ll pat me on the back and tell me I’ll get over you soon...sooner than I think. They got a sister, or a friend, or a friend of a friend. They’ll tell me to try online-dating, it’s cheap. Put myself up on the auction block. Join a group and all.
They’ll all wanna hook me up.
I can’t wait. I’ll pay for the postage.
©Steven Hunley 2011