life conundrums

Sunday, October 10, 2010

I like to present myself with hard questions to really get to the root of who I am. If I had to choose between saving my mother or father in a fire? Neither. The guilt would be too hard to deal with. Could I marry a midget? I’d go for it for Peter Dinklage, if only for his perfect motor-boating height which is probably prime comedy material. If my friend told me they murdered someone, would I tell the police? Yes, because the thought of holding a murder-secret makes me so nervous. Plus, like, I’d worry that they’d murder me someday. I’ve thought about it. A lot.

But now I’m sitting here and I’m wondering if I could ever marry a guy who was perfect in every way: a strong jawline, muscular, full head of perfectly styled hair, broad-shouldered, cute teeth, totally hilarious and socially adept… but on the side of his outer thigh… resting just below the hip… is a teeny, tiny, perfectly formed, fully functioning vagina.

I don’t know how it got there. Maybe he somehow absorbed his dizygotic female twin and that is all that remains. Or his parents, in a fit of coke rage and immersed in debt, signed him up for experimental surgery as an infant in a study akin to the one with the rat with the ear on his back. Maybe it’s there for no reason. I don’t know! I don’t know why he has a vagina on his thigh!

I’m having a lot of trouble deciding on this one. I don’t know if I could do it.