Dangerous Compassions

modern lace, frog secretions, complaining about complaining in pre-spring

“Would you want to microdose on a frog secretion?” I asked Ming.

“Maybe,” he said.

“How about for forty bucks?”

“Maybe,” he said.  “Were frogs harmed?”

“Probably,” I said.  “Do you think they asked the frog’s permission?”  (Two second fantasy of new age frog permission asking ceremony.)

“Do you think they gave the frog forty bucks?” Ming asked.

Scathing, my dear.  Yes.  “Probably a frog doesn’t want forty bucks.  Probably they want their habitat back,” I said.  (Two second fantasy about what a frog would buy for forty bucks.  How much does land cost, there?)

Ming can get some free health things with this special money, from his health insurance, I guess.  He was having trouble with the app and looked at the paper catalog that came in the mail.  I looked in it too, which was depressing.

The feminine hygiene section has four products, all for yeast issues.  I guess it’s for seniors?  I told Ming, the people who made these decisions must not have had those kinds of parts.

The health things I want are not in there, predictably.  Ming and I were talking about sense.  I guess I make as much sense as I make money.  I said, “Sense is overrated.  Sense is for the weak.”  It was funny, but that’s kind of mean for an aphorism.  I won’t adopt it.

I got into our car, and the passenger seat was all the way scooched back.  That exposed a metal thing that had a sharpness to it and hurt my leg.  I was annoyed and looked later how the spot was blue, with blood not quite bleeding out.

Then we walked at the park.  Then I got tired, and I sat on a bench.  You know those weird angular mint green benches at Craig Ranch Park.  I put my leg on the bench, and then I realized maybe the owie I had got bench germs on it.

“I skeeved myself out,” I told Ming.  He says the sun was shining on the bench, so maybe that killed the germs.

A lady was complaining for a long time to a golf cart riding park worker, about dogs off leash.  The conversation was annoying me, as Ming and I took pictures of one another.

“I should ask that guy if he’s taking more complaints,” I told Ming, as the park worker zoomed away on this golf cart.  “I could probably think of some good ones.  Like–there’s too much complaining at this park.  No one ate the figs off the fig trees.”  We had walked by a mini grove of fig trees, and a lot of withered figs were stuck to the branches.

This red lacy article of clothing is pointless in that it doesn’t keep me warm or hide any nudity.  It’s purely ornamental.  That doesn’t make sense either, but what can we do, being aesthetic creatures who like some beauty.  It makes me happy.  The lace is stretchy and comfortable, modern lace.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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