| My alarm clock is an annoying cluster of sorority girls, hovering just on the other side of my bedroom door. They are bedazzled and bejeweled, jingle-jangling from head to toe with cheap bling and poor taste and social pressure. They wear too much perfume - cloying vanilla that will climb in your nostril and lodge in the back of your throat. They’re standing out there, listening for their cue, their swollen feet jammed into shiny pumps two sizes too small for their porky feet. They shift their weight in anticipation, from one sweaty, stumpy foot to the other, covering their tittering mouths with pudgy fingers, tipped with acrylic nails that match their outfits. Little pig noses sniffing upwards, they grunt with excitement as the time ticks closer. They can’t contain themselves now - they bump and jostle into each other, smashing flesh into door jamb. One of them claws another’s face, this one smashes down on that one’s ankle. Snorting and grunting and jibber jabbering and jingle jangling they crash through my bedroom door in a frenzied, blonde panic, babbling incoherently about keeping up appearances and grade point averages and the Cuban missile crisis and dating website profiles. Two of them are up in my face, breathing their pig breath into my eyes and ears - two more have flung open my closet and are tearing through, screeching, “Nothing to wear! Nothing to wear!” Two more sisters come barrelling through and are at the foot of my bed, listing off all the things I didn’t do yesterday. They flop on the bed, scratching and clawing their way closer to my head, pinning me down under the sheets, prying my eyes open and poking my face with their candy-apple-red fake nails. It’s a squealing chorus of urgency and ego, they’re chanting, “Me! Me! Me! Pay attention to me! Feed me! Bathe me! Me! Me! Me!” Then they all turn their lumpy faces towards me and shake their jingle jangles at me and hike up their sorority skirts and snort, “GET AAAAAAHP!” I’ve never been a morning person. |
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