Oyster in Love
“You don’t have to like me. You don’t have to spend time with me. I do. I have to hang around myself twenty-four hours a day. I have to brush these teeth and squeeze the pus out of these pimples. The answer is yes when I think, ‘Did I say that?’ I am the me that I can never not be, and that’s poetry. And I just said that out loud. And I’m not taking it back. I choose to like me. I give back. I do twenty push-ups for every hundred calories I eat in a meal. I read the back of the boxes. I change outfits three times a day and I always wear two pairs of underwear. What kind of underwear do you like? Not what you wear, but what you like. I like snug fabric, but I like to be modest in case I need to change in mixed company. If you want to get sexy try the “tursacken,” which is a g-string, thong, and speedo. Small to large, unless you’re going for the superhero thing, which I understand is gaining traction. I guess back in the day everybody wore briefs but when I was in middle school everyone suddenly stopped wearing them. When I want to feel youthful I wear tight briefs under slack polyblend boxers.”
“What were we talking about before?”
“Before what?”
“Before boxers. Before push-ups.”
“You had asked me why we could never talk about you.” Oyster licked his lips. “I think it’s because you’re uninteresting.”
“I’ve never thought about it that way.”
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