After We Sit

We pull up two chairs and sit with one another. 

And you take a moment before whispering how much you regret having children. You love them, but it’s fucking exhausting making lunches, and not have a moment of silence or the ability to be selfish once in a while. How it drains you and has turned you into a person that you no longer recognize. About how tired you are, even when you’re sleeping.

I’ll tear up while sharing my reality that every morning, I wake up knowing that in the middle of the night, there was an automatic payment charge that forced me into overdraft. The amount of anxiety I have knowing that I’d be absolutely fucked if there was an emergency, a flat tire, or if I ever needed to ‘pay up front’ for literally anything.

You flatly state how you have gotten through life truly knowing that you’re not pretty. And how you get dressed for the sole purpose of having to leave the house. You really do feel that way. Always have. That you look in the mirror and say ‘whatever, it’s something’.

I’ll be reluctant, but willing to talk about the pride I feel when I make myself throw up. How I know that I am now void of those calories. That even though it has a small effect on my weight, it’s something. Disappointed that I used to have the power and strength to do it almost every day, but can’t seem to get back into it. 

You tightly shut your eyes while saying out loud for the first time that you’re having an affair with a man at work. You have him saved in your phone as “Stephanie” and that you meet up on weekends at cheap motels sometimes…the sex is amazing.

And how obnoxious it is when someone tells us to ‘live in the moment’ or ‘relax’. To “take deep breaths” and make fucking vision boards. God damnit. Fuck you and your daily walks!

Your face in your hands telling me that you’ve had three abortions, but have a pro-life sticker on your car. No one will ever know. After that moment, I won’t either.

Repeating to each other that ‘it’s never ending’...The laundry, the vacuuming, buying toilet paper, wiping down counters and more laundry. Showering is exhausting for me; you disagree. Neither of us change the sheets as often as we tell people we do.
We fucking hate book clubs and the bitches that have skincare routines. Lulu Lemon leggings and Stanley cups. Bottomless brunches and how they shake their salads in containers during lunchtime. Makes me homicidal. 

Oh, and how sometimes you spend a full day pretending to work. Not doing shit but then carrying the paranoia and dread that comes from someone noticing.

I smirk while I confess that I love to shoplift. Mostly cosmetics. Things that I can afford, but the thrill of it is unmatched.


When we are done, we know we won't "do this again sometime."

And we leave.

But not without locking the door behind us, first.