Love and Marriage

This is one of my favorite things I've written.

Portrait of my Cat as my Husband

If Gus and I were to get married, we would shit in a box and drink out of the toilet. We would never have to wear clothes. We wouldn’t be cold though, because we could always turn the heat up. We would sit by the vents all day, licking ourselves clean. We would be very clean. If I was married to Gus I would never have to cook. Our people would bring us food. We would eat lots of chicken flavored Iams. If I was married to Gus we would never go outside. We’d have no need to go outside. We would chase flies around the living room. Sometimes we would chase imaginary flies. Gus and I would sleep like spoons in my bed. Gus and I do that anyway, but if we were married, it would be ok. Gus and I would not have any children though. Gus is neutered. If I was married to Gus we would spend a lot of time with his brother, Z. I would not let Z sit on my lap though. If I was a married women, that would be improper. Gus and I would not need money. We would not need to buy anything, so we would not need to work. We would not do anything really. Sometimes people would visit us, and we would sit on their laps and hope they would pet us. We would sit on people especially when they didn’t want us to. Gus and I would be very happy.

To Mia

I worked at a pre-school two summers ago. I was a junior counselor in a bunk of 3 year olds. It's funny, people always think toddlers are so different then us, but I saw the same mean girl dynamics, the same kids in need, that I see every day in High School. One of the little girls I worked with inspired this letter.

Dear Mia,

Even at three years old I can't help but think you have everything figured out. Maybe it's something subtle, like you're big blue eyes  or small pout that contribute to this perception of you, but I know it's your more obvious characteristic that gives you this air of maturity; you're muteness.

In the six weeks I knew you I never heard you utter one word. At such a young age you were able to figure out that talk is cheap, no one will listen to you anyway, especially when you can't read yet.

Still, I can't help but hypothesize that your inability to talk comes from a different places, not your intelligence, but somewhere else that I just don't understand. I remember the first day of camp when you failed to ask a counselor to take you to the bathroom. Your Gap Kids shorts were soaked through with urine and there was a puddle on the floor. I want you to know that even though you might not have anything to say now you can't keep on pissing yourself for the rest of your life.

Maybe at three you don't have anything t0 say, but one day, hopefully, you will. I hope you are able to overcome whatever keeps you from speaking. My only advice to you is once you do find your voice, use it. Too many people are speaking, with nothing to say.

Sincerely,

Hannah