Spring usually brings lots of things we’re happy about: lots of sunshine, beautiful flowers and winter clearance sales at the mall.
But alas, the Spring of 2001 has brought me nothing but pain and violence. Like the School of Management kids who can’t find their Burberry umbrellas, I have been going out of my mind. The reason for my suffering is simple: I have been fighting with my best friend —-My Body. Yes, folks, since the season began, My Body has been a complete bastard.
As with any friend, I decided the best way to fix our problems was to talk to one another about it. And like a hooker in a club for the blind, I knew I was going to have to make the first move. Here are some excerpts from the journal I kept during our heart-to-heart discussions.
Day 1:
The day after Spring Break. My Body is scary grayish color.
Me: Hey, how come I’m not a deliciously cancerous golden brown?
My Skin: (silence)
Me: Look, that snow has reflective quality! Can’t you and the sun work together?
The demon seed was ignoring me! I had to find some way to open the lines of communication. After showering that night, I realized that maybe My Skin was just shy. I decided to talk to My Hair instead.
Me: Um, you’re always making me late. Is there anyway you could relax once in a while? You’re all worked up.
My Hair: Well, maybe if you used the $6 Physique instead of that Aussie stuff…
Me: (gasp) It was on sale!
My Hair: Kangaroo paw is not what I’m looking for.
Me: Well, what ARE you looking for?
My Hair: A time-share in Florida.
Day 2:
Since I had neither the money nor the time to sell myself on the street corner for the aforementioned time-share, I decided to speak with My Ears instead. They seemed OK with the fact my doctor poked holes in them when I was two.
Suddenly, I received an angry phone call from my mother. That’s when all hell broke loose …
Me: Can’t you remember when my grandmother’s birthday is?
My Brain: I’m sorry, but I’m filled with useless movie quotes right now.
Me: That’s not MY fault.
My Brain: Well maybe you if stopped watching “Clerks” every weekend we wouldn’t be having this problem.
Scarily enough, My Brain had a point.
Day 6: Friday night
After giving the bod a few days of break, I decided to try talking with My Skin again.
Me: I have a date tonight. Why are you breaking out?
My Skin: You have a date with Jane Austen and “Fight Club.”
Me: Whatever. You just wait until I get the Clearsil.
My Skin: No, not the Benzoyl Peroxide!
Day 7:
So I figured, I’ll start giving My Body the best of everything. Instead of yelling at it and prodding it with overpriced products, I decided to get my exercise on. That, too, was not in the best interest of My Body and I.
Me: Don’t you want to look good this summer?
Stomach: No, I don’t.
Hot Abs: (muffled) Let me out!
Me: What’s that?
Stomach: Oh, that? That’s just the furnace …
Where was I going wrong? Why was My Body turning against me? Then suddenly, my right calf began to twitch. Suddenly it hit me like a ton of books Barnes ‘ Noble wouldn’t take back last semester: June 16, 1997 — the day I got tattooed.
Me: Here’s a present for you.
My Leg: I can’t believe you put a needle in me!
Me: Um, that wasn’t a needle. It was, um, a laundry marker.
My Leg: And you wonder why you didn’t get into Harvard.
Then, I heard a little peep from the side of my head. My Ears, the one part of me I thought was okay with mutilation, had something to say.
My Ears: So you think you can stick holes in me, huh?
Me: I was only two! I had nothing to do with it!
My Ears: What about fifth grade, huh? You had to put another two into me!
Me: Stop, stop!
My Ears: And in eighth grade! You got another two!
My Eyes: (whispering) Don’t forget to mention the cartilage!
Me: Hey, why are you involved?
My Eyes: You try stopping the fingers from writing the correct answers on your midterms!
Me: THAT WAS YOU?
My Brain: Nice slip there, Ned.
After all of the yelling and the crying, My Body and I huddled together and bonded over a nice cup of International Foods Vienna Roast. We talked about summer days when we frolicked among the wildflowers. We both wept openly about the scissors incident of 1994 when my mother attempted to cut my bangs. Then, we watched “Steel Magnolias” and ate a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. The bastard is no more. It was, in so many words, a breakthrough.
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