I’m in a carwash for the first time in twelve years. I’m trembling slightly, but he doesn’t notice. Suddenly my heart starts pounding, pounding. My brain is hot and squeezing. I can’t look him in the face anymore. My eyes are lowered and darting around the car looking for something that will make me feel better. For a moment they flick to my door handle. Could I quickly open the door, slam it, and run out of the carwash before the brushes return from the back of the car? No, he’d think me a fool. Oh God, they’re on their way. Too late! Oh shit, I don’t think I can take this! Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh my God. Just focus on your breathing. Oh God. They’re moving back behind us again. I can breathe a bit. I gingerly put my hand on the back of his, glancing for just an instant at his face. I think I’m going to be all right. I love him. I’m grateful for his steadiness. Oh shit, it’s time for the rinse. He chose the deluxe wash. I can only hope that there’ll be only one rinse. I’m feeling a lot s...
So casually, so bitterly, I spat, “It’s a dump.” He said, “Don’t say that. It’s been my pride and joy.” Why am I so harsh of tongue? He has a gentle heart, so precious. I mustn’t maim it. Why can’t I be as good and sweet as he used to think I was?
Does Gary Oldman stare at his neck wattle in the mirror? Why does washing dishes, wiping kitchen surfaces, and taking out the rubbish make me feel so calm and accomplished? Are men not embarrassed leaving their pubic hairs on the toilet seat? Why are northern English accents so comic? Should I get as much Botox as I can afford, or should I let my face age as it will? Why do I love the name Ingeborg? What is the etiquette for telling a man his fly is open? Should I lean in to my actual interests and personality, or should I try to be normal? What would it feel like to have a lifestyle where “money is no object”? Why can male actors age and still have lucrative careers while their female costars have to spend enormous amounts of time and money on their appearance to be employable?
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