Present Imperfect

...in bed. | October 31, 2007

I believe in nice. I believe you catch more flies with honey. I believe in the kind word spoken. Yes, sometimes I wish we could all just say what we’ve been dying to. What’s been bugging the living shit out of us. Things like “dude, you reek,” or “that is the dumbest idea I have ever heard,” or “please stop chewing with your mouth open or I swear on all that is holy, I will pop your eyeballs out with this teaspoon.”

How refreshing, then, to learn of cynical fortune cookies. I tire of cryptic pronouncements and mindless proverbs issuing forth from the hollow recesses of my dessert. I want a hint of bile mixed in with my fried rice and hot ‘n’ sour soup. Not literally, of course. Unless that’s the secret ingredient in Eric’s mango chicken, in which case, keep it coming.

But let’s try to be equitable here. Let’s recognize that we all need a little encouragement now and then. Let’s see some “you look fabulous” or “you’re so clever” or “have you lost weight?” fortunes. Or, better yet, let’s expand the reach of tiny, written messages beyond the crunchy-yet-largely-flavorless folds of ethnic cookiedom. Let’s leave them on pillows. Let’s pass them in class. Let’s stuff them into our coworkers’ mobile phone holsters in much the same way one might stuff a crisp Hamilton into the G-string of a particularly bendy stripper.

And on today of all days, this our sacred day of make-believe, let’s endeavor to be honest and good.

Even when we’re wearing fake animal parts.

Amen.