218 - Uh Modest Proposal


You and your boyfriend walk hand-in-hand along the moonlit beach of a (Coney) island paradise. The discarded shells of local hermit crabs (Styrofoam cups) shine in the bright luminescence of the Sun’s midnight partner. On the calm waves ride schools of Coney Island Whitefish (used condoms).

Tom, your boyfriend (a thirty-seven-year-old truck driver you met twenty minutes ago at a nearby bar), stops suddenly and grabs your other hand so you face each other. From his (Member’s Only) jacket, he produces a small object.  With great effort, he kneels in the sand (broken glass), putting all his (considerable) weight on a single knee.

Obscuring the small object from your view, Tom looks up at you and asks “Paula, would you make me the most happy-“ (Tom pauses to let out a long belch) “man in California?”

You ignore Tom’s glaring geographical error as much because you’re so excited about what you’re sure is about happen as because you’re too drunk to know where you are.

Tom reaches for his concealed parcel and you hear a metallic ripping sound. “Would you,” he says, reaching up to your extended right hand and slips on…a pop-top. In his other hand he brings up an opened tin of Vienna sausages. “Would you see how many of theseyou can fit in your mouth at once.”

You vomit directly onto Tom’s open hand. “I’m sorry Tom,” you say while wiping puke from your lips, “I’m not ready for that kind of a comm-“ You pause as you struggle to remember the word for  not having sex with other people. “Comm-“ The engine of your mind tries to turn over. “Commencement. Ain’t ready.” You turn and walk back along the beach the way you came.

Not this girl.