I have secret fantasies, sure, and some I must brag and say are BRILLIANT and out of the box, like my idea that all sexual harassment will end the day we pass a law that for once a year, men aren’t allowed to wear underwear.
“Ewwww” you might be thinking but as a woman with D breasts at the age of ten, who cried every day for having her bra unhooked in class, the nickname “Melons” still haunting her all the way to College, would like one day dedicated to men not wearing undies.
One day of imagining boys wonder if their jockstrap will be snapped in class, to be not looked at in the eye at gas stations by creepy women ogling or giggling, to wonder if their ideas are respected for the idea not the bulging Fabio package they sling around might do a world of good.
I bet it would begin the consumer frenzy of “Men’s Secret,” a place men go to enhance, push up, squeeze, seduce and reduce while feeding billions of dollars into the idea that pain does equal gain, that their lady will not cheat if they are taking the proper care of their packages and since penis implants are on the rise, they too might even result to buying the latest pump, inserts, invisible tape and itchy lace, with high priced tags promised to build their self esteem.
It is a good thought in theory but maybe I’m a lazy activist, but I’m sorry, no way in hell do I want to look at scrotums all day, but I have a better idea anyways, one that does not entail balls being bounced by disgusting men who don’t know they are disgusting even with a national holiday to prove it.
National ADD Day Folks.
I’m excited just thinking about it, God I love pretending, for one day a year I would dream of waking up and knowing as I stir my coffee that just today I shall be validated, that all those logical judgmental linear people would be sweating it.
I would be a teacher that day, because yes, it is my fantasy and yes, no one is more qualified.
I would start the day ensuring that for my student’s best interest every sign would be gone, roads would just disappear and locker, phones, and purses would never be right where they left it last.
That would begin the grading curve you see, cause there would still be those people who despite every move I threw at them, would show up on time, with two organizers, a monogrammed and matching day calendar and planner secretly inserted into their veins by aliens who despite my holiday, like to fuck with me.
I would immediately set time for them with a counselor who would kindly explain they are fucked in the head for sitting still, causing distraction by their lack of distraction, and for their own “help” I would line up serious meds, expensive and frowned upon by the chaos committee cause damn people, how hard is it to lose your keys? What are they buried and glued up your ass?
How can you live with yourself for knowing you would never lose a cell phone and is it really sweetie, that hard I would ask, nicely patting them on the shoulder to make them understand I only mean to help, but remembering appointments instead of daydreaming could fuck up your whole life, if left untreated!
Then after a good talk and some healthy shame and dangerous chemicals that may or may not work and who knows if it could cause cancer or birth defects, I would tell them to write a play, dance a choreographed routine Janet would be proud of, do a stand up routine by the end of class on cue but whatever they do, it must be original, creative, inspiring, and if I’m not crying or laughing, they may not make it to college.
Then, I would not take excuses, explain that creativity and spontaneity are a must in the work force, that being “LOGICAL” was something drug companies made up to be rich, to stop making excuses and while they scramble to try to not sit still, I would ask if anyone in the class had done their homework.
When my best pupil describes with humor and confidence how she had in one day thrown 200 bucks in the trash because her other hand was busy, left her coffee mug on the hood of the car, forgotten her son’s math tutoring for she had been rolling in the floor with him and lost track of the time, we would stand and congratulate her, give her honors and a full scholarship.
After reading her poetry to the class, brilliant and beautiful poetry that moved us all to tears, it would only make sense she had created it while looking for her purse that had been frozen by accident cause somehow it got left next to the ground beef she forgot had expired.
Then after removing math and science or at least only deeming it as important as say theatre, music, or P.E., if you were a student who still struggled, and I mean the serious ill, the ones who were too busy thinking about fractions to tell a joke when called upon, well, then that idiot will set the bar for what the other linears never want to be branded as so they will hide, cry, seek forgiveness and mood stimulators to fit in to a classroom that maybe with enough fear, will conform, hide their responsibility and gifts and one day, we just pray and hope they too will make something of themselves.
So, on my pretend holiday, I will my pretend shirt I would buy but just never heard of it, “ADD AWESOME” sip my coffee and write my blog, until I remember something I forgot, again, and oh, shit.
Am I getting the girls today from the bus stop or is that tomorrow?
I guess that ends my secret holiday, but don’t worry, I’m sure to lock my keys, lose a child, forget a bunch of names and die of massive boredom at least once today.
And perfect example is Ingrid, who rocks my point.