Last night I declared that I was going to finish my poetry presentation if it killed me.
It nearly did.
I sat here and whined and cussed and yes, even pleaded with my book to make some kind of sense. I Googled other critical analysessesssesss (analyses, analysi....shit) of "She Walks in Beauty" by Lord Byron and still got nothing from it. I totally get that he's enamored by this chick - his COUSIN, dudes - but I totally don't get why he didn't just say, "She is smokin' hot and I wanna hit that" and be done with it. No, instead he compared her to a cloudless night with starry skies and said she had a "calm" face. Maybe I have just never been involved with a highly romantic man, but I prefer a much more direct approach. I truly think that if a guy said something like that to me I'd bust out into giggles and the moment would be lost. A calm face? The only time my face is calm is ...... well, I'm not sure my face is ever calm. I run at 90mph all day long.
Once, in a bar when I was a mere 19 years old, a guy was incredibly schnockered and like 20 years older than me, but was hitting on me nonetheless. He leaned in and in a very beer-y and cigarette-y smelling stupor slurred, "You have verrrry inviting shoulders." I busted out laughing and said, "Riiiiight. And what are they inviting you to do?" (Wrong question. Totally wrong question.) Looking back, I see that the guy was trying so hard to impress me, but I guess I instead found him ridiculous. The point is, I prefer my husband to say, "HooooooEEE, Momma! You look good in them camouflage capri pants, baby! Let's throw some candy in the yard, holler for the kids, then lock the door behind 'em. I figure that buys us ten minutes or so. Whaddya say?" I mean, I guess it's all in what you're used to.
Anyway, by 10:45 last night I was in tears over this stupid poem and my head was pounding and I went to bed. But this morning it's a different story. I've had a pot of coffee, 6 mini chocolate donuts and I'm rarin' to go.
I better go put on my calm face and get to analyzing.
3 comments:
Camouflage capris, huh? I need to get me some a them to go with Big Daddy's camo convertible wind pants. That's right, convertible. The bottoms zip right off of 'em. The man is fine.
Never underestimate the power of little chocolate donuts.
HM's right, of course. Little Chocolate Donuts are a force of nature.
Getting to the point of the post, I have a *lot* of smokin' hot cousins. If I were inclined to hit that, I think I'd dress it up in a lot of flowerly ah-tist bullshit too, rather than being all direct about it. Look at it this way: who's she going to want to sleep with first - a sensitve poetic soul, or her creepy horndog cousin?
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