In which the world made a mother out of me...

A modicum of stoicism is the best answer to the stress.  She told me to always have a few bucks just in case. I went to dance clubs and broke cologne bottles in the bathroom sinks.  He loved my hairy underarms but I didn’t love him.  He asked me and I told him.  He wished I washed; I washed his.  She always kept it eta pateta, Hansel and Gretel paths. His preposterous haircut and obsequiousness, don’t trust men with half a haircut.  How does anyone afford anything?  He threw up his hands and cried that he cannot understand numbers.  Giving up and being home.  She made meat every single night, salad every single night, cutting carrots was the worst.  Reliquary ideas and altar hopes. She collected fireflies in mason jars and let them loose in the movie theater when the lights went down.  Palm to face hand to god.  Bleached cotton is the best smell in all the world.  His white shirttail hid the erection in his white pants.  The magnet dogs from the airport.  She decried having to meet, be nice to, and then say goodbye to all the partners over the years.  The humor of the self, the details of the self, the nonsense of the self, the vision of the self, the instigation of the self, the immolation of the self, affectation of the self, the defecation of the self.  She didn’t realize he was bald until he took off his hat, what a shock!  Tranquility becomes Dulcinea.  If there isn’t any strength, there isn’t any story.  The tailspin of her cigarettes and enameled pill case.  Tangents live inside their own crates shaped like moronic suitcases.  The first comb-over I ever sucked the cock of.  When someone tells you not to be a cad at least try to plan for an outing beyond the territory of your own smirk.  It terrified me to see him without his beard.  She sang “Pepsi-cola hits the spot, 12 oz bottle that’s a lot….” to the then-prince of Brunei in the back of a limo.  She was from Nevada by way of her own way.  His ass clenched tight like a question mark.  The aborted summer play d’extravaganza and hidden vodka bottles under the sink.  Wrangled insular arrangements of randomly amazing care-packaged care packages.  Her tiddle toddle body in sleeveless striped summer shirts and white shorts, so much self-tanner.  He’s a jiminy cricket of a man, sleeping so late is his birthright.  Carefulness without care.  Stinking things, philosophically.  She traded the family car for a Corvette which seated two.  Terrible restrictions against the free space of panicky damage control.  Stepping in time to the rhythm of inner applause.  The one with the horse, the doghouse, and the fence.  Not hung up, but dirty clothes style.  Major panties crack insistence.  The tooth thrown on his lawn to draw him out.  Can any old one be the vessel?