Jack and Jill
Peter and Jill climbed up a hill to fetch a pail of water. Actually, we just went down the street to get a cup of coffee. To be honest, her name wasn’t Jill, but for the sake of the story, that’s what we’ll call her. One last thing; when coffee together was suggested, the term “fetch” wasn’t used. But it should’ve been. Anyways, to the undersized, overpriced coffee shop we went to look for openings in conversation to speak about ourselves and seek affirmation under the guise of “getting to know each other.”
“What’s your least favorite thing about yourself?” I asked her as we sat. She seemed put off.
“Maybe we should split a muffin?”
“Sorry,” I joked. “Was just trying to lighten the mood.
“Alright, I’ll play. Least favorite thing? Probably my taste in men. I have awful taste in men.”
I laughed. “Me too.” She paused. “Maybe we should split that muffin,” I offered.
We did. The top-heavy muffin waffled and spilled into my lap. The cranberry crumble stained my jeans as I brushed it off my lap and I thought back to all the times I’d ignored my mothers pleas to place a napkin there as I ate. Perhaps manners have a purpose after all? I wondered, re-evaluating my entire existence.
“What’s your least favorite thing about yourself?” she asked, lacking creativity as she repackaged my earlier inquiry.
“It’s probably the fact that I don’t have enough tangible things about myself that I would change,” I half-truthfully responded, prepared. “I like to have something to push for, to strive for. I never yearn. I wish I yearned more.”
She stared blankly at me. “Really?”
“No,” I replied. “I don’t know. I wish I could grow a better beard?”
“Yeah,” she agreed, cruelly. “I can’t tell if you’re trying, if you’ve given up or if you just haven’t had a chance to shave.”
We continued to talk, taking turns trying to entertain ourselves, trying impress each other and pontificating over subjects upon which we had no right to speak. Or maybe that was just me.
“You sure have a lot to say,” she told me. “I feel like you need some sort of forum to get all these thoughts out,” she continued, confirming that she was not destined to listen much longer.
“I have a newsletter,” I told her with a shrug. “I write each week.”
“How do you come up with something to talk about every week?” she inquired.
“I go on a lot of coffee dates,” I quipped. She rolled her eyes, pausing. A moment of silence.
“You should add me to the mailing list,” she told me, finally.
“I would,” I told her, “but you’re clearly not a real person. You’re simply a fictional character, a vessel through which I share the aforementioned thoughts with the world.”
And just like that, she was gone. I finished “her” half of the muffin, grabbed my coat and walked away.
A Riff on Apples and Oranges:
“Hard to compare the two,” people will mindlessly say. “They’re like apples and oranges.” First, let’s focus on the fact that mainstream society is filled with sheeple who never take a second glance at any commonly-used phrase or generally-accepted belief. Who started this analogy? Apples and oranges? Apples and oranges are like two peas in a pod. Perhaps not, but I did want to reference a comparative phrase that made sense so as to give a point of reference. Apples and oranges are both fruit — in the greater food family, belonging to the same sub-group is akin to sharing the same genes. In terms of nutritional value, size, shape, weight and portion of the good that is inedible, their qualities are incredibly similar. If one were to throw a fruit at another person, apples and oranges probably rank as the top two throwable fruits. Sure, a plum would be nice as well, but those are surprisingly dense. Regardless, the above few sentences were quite literally a comparison of apples and oranges. So.
Furthermore, essentially anything could be compared. Apples and a baby’s bib, for instance, are not often used in the same sentence. They’re fairly different items. Still, they could easily be made the subject of a compare and contrast. Both items make my hands sticky after handling. Neither should be eaten by a baby unless churned into tiny bits. In terms of contrast, bibs are washed typically in a washing machine, while apples are given a quick once-over with a paper towel and perhaps a dab of water — for peace of mind — prior to consumption. Apples are nature’s toothbrush, baby bibs don’t even naturally appear in the wild.
Maybe this is only the way I feel while slapping together a stream-of-consciousness piece with screams of wannabe wolves bouncing overhead while I’m consumed by caffeine on my lunch “break” in which I’m disregarding free, delicious pizza so I can remain loyal to a Chipotle that doesn’t even love me the way I pretend to love it, but it’s still the way I feel right now and I’d appreciate awareness being spread towards defeating the usage of such incoherent phrases and the incorporation of more run-on sentences. Just think before you speak, basically.