Pardon me

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In another world I would wake up at 5am and jog through the park wearing all black and neon Nikes. Then I would come home to eat egg whites after a cold shower. Afterward, I would skim The New York Times while drinking black coffee and listening to Erykah Badu.  I might even sigh over an op-ed on healthcare and then I would throw on an Anthropologie dress, slide on my flats and slip out of the house smelling of lavender and honey. This, of course, is in another world.

In reality my alarm goes off at 7:52.  I think 7:30, 7:45 and 8:00 sound so serious so I always pick “random” times. I thank God, think about my dreams which resemble SVU episodes or Dr. Seuss books, turn on the Drake/ Taylor Swift Pandora station while I brush my teeth, inhale cinnamon toast crunch, throw a pair of heels in my bag and race to catch the 8:20 train in my faded blue Toms. Then I meet people like the boy/man I met yesterday. I call him boy/man because he was around my age. I don’t know where we belong. Boy/Man it is.

Boy/Man: Which one do you like?

Me: Pardon?

Boy/Man: Who the fuck says pardon? (cracks up on crowded E train while I consider moving- if only I could) My tattoos. You’re staring hard so which one do you like?

Me: (I try to talk soft because people are looking) Oh, I was just trying to read the one on your hand.

Boy/Man: It says Jacquelyn with a crown

Me: Oh okay. Your mom?

Boy/Man: Sort of

Me: Sort of your mom?

Boy/Man: The mother of my son

Me: Oh okay. That’s nice.

Boy/Man: You know you can get struck by lightning lying so early in the morning

Me: What? (This conversation is weird, the train is hot and the cinnamon toast crunch is sloshing in my stomach)

Boy/Man: Nobody who says the word pardon thinks tattoos are nice

Me: You don’t know that (He raises his chin and moves his mouth to the side and I can’t help but laugh) You’re actually right. I can’t stand them

Boy/Man: What’s the matter with them?

Me: I just think they’re silly. Like why? Get a sticker or doodle in your journal not on your body

Boy/Man: I don’t have a journal

Me: You have notebook paper

Boy/Man: Why do you care about something you don’t have to pay for?

Me: I don’t pay for a lot of things that I care about. And it’s not like I’m truly protesting tattoos. I don’t care thaaaat much. I just don’t… understand.

Boy/Man: I don’t understand why you are saying pardon in 2013

Me: It’s just a word. Sorry for having manners

Boy/Man: Well you were staring at my tattoos and staring isn’t good manners

Me: Your hand was right above mine with writing all over it

Boy/Man: All these people on this hot ass train and you’re looking at something you don’t even like

Me: I guess

Boy/Man: I bet one day you’ll get a tattoo

Me: Never

Boy/Man: Never say never. Or pardon.

Me: Okay…

Boy/Man: I’m messin’ with you. That’s nice you say shit like that

Me: Thanks. Your tattoo isn’t too bad either.

Boy/Man: Stop lying

The end.

Yep in another world I would slip out of the house smelling of lavender and honey and my driver named Wilson would open the door for me. I would hop in the back of a black car and ride peacefully to work. But this is my reality. And ya know what? I like it. No lie. No lie. No lieeee. (Drake is still stuck in my head)

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