by Gerladine DeRuiter
There are things that you can imagine yourself saying.
Things like, “Why thank you, yes, I will take a third helping of dessert.”
“We can hang out at our house, but you guys have to not touch the dust piles. I’ve been collecting them for three months, and there’s one specimen that I think is becoming sentient.”
And then there are things that you hope to one day say, like:
“Oh, you are too kind – but if anyone here is a comedic genius, it’s you, Ms. Fey. Or may I call you Tina?”
“I just invented a new kind of cheese which makes you skinnier.”
And then there’s shit that you never imagined saying, but somehow, you end up saying it. I’m guessing every single person who’s ever uttered, “I’m getting a divorce” or “I didn’t realize it was raccoon meat” has felt this way. The words leave your mouth, and they don’t sound real.
Lately, I’ve been saying a lot of things like that. Mainly, this:
I have a brain tumor.
I’ve named it Steve.
The standard reaction to this revelation is something like this:
“What the fuck do you mean ‘you have a brain tumor’?”
Followed quickly by, “Wait, why Steve?”
As for the first question … yeah. I know. I don’t really get it, either. I’m hoping if I keep repeating it, it will make more sense. For what it’s worth, I didn’t really understand Inception, either.
As for why I named it Steve, … well, duh. What else was I going to name it? There is no one to whom I am particularly close who is named Steve. I’ve never kissed a boy named Steve. I’ve never uttered the phrase, “Steve, I love you.” And Steve is nice and short and easy to add to a long list of unrepeatable words. Behold:
“Fucking goddamn miserable piece-of-shit Steve.”
See how well that works? It kind of rolls off the tongue, really. And considering how many big words we’ve had to deal with over the last couple of weeks, I’m inclined to stick to something short and sweet and monosyllabic (this must be how the Kardashians feel).
Click Here to read the rest of Geraldine’s post at Everywhereist.