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Movin to the Moon

Carolyn Foulkes | Mark Reihill

Hey Diary, I knew it would be that kinda day. I got laid off from Tastee Dogs and asked my boss, “R u gonna pay me in hotdogs or cash?” Hes got recession obsession, u know. Wonder how come I never hear about gruntled employees. And who has been dissing them anyhow?

Still mad too at u-know-who who ditched me to go play hockey. Can u believe my bf prefers a puck to a f***?

Drove over to see gramps in his assisted living apt. Thought he could understand my boo-hoos. I gave him two joints and we shared one out in the cold by the pond. My Rx, practicin medicine w/o a license. Hes my grand dude. Ill miss him when he goes. Hes playing cards with the Big C and the cancer has a stacked deck.

At home Mom starts tellin me to stop doin stuff to my bod. The tattoo, eyebrow stud and green stripe in the hair r enuf for her.

I say “Mom this is national I don’t give a s*** day. I just lost my job. This public service announcement brought to you by the letters F and U.”

Roller coaster up, roller coaster down. Can I please transfer to the merry go round? Maybe go in senseless circles instead.

Then I hit the Mall. So mad w/ tears in my eyes like dollar store diamonds. Waste of good makeup. Good thing I keep a teensy bit of vodka in the car for emergencies. For snowdrifts till that dog comes round w/ the brandy.

Weatherman on the car radio sez “expect poor conditions for hunting.” Oh, tkx, I was gonna shoot that lyin groundhog. Early spring, my ass. Its still winter to me.

Im a shopper freak. When I get crazy pissed I gotta buy something. Call me Luke Aislewalker, prowler of Store Wars. I do Abercrombie, Forever 21, Aeropostale, the whole bit. So mad at Mom, my boss and the bf who shall not be named. Worried my grand dude will leave me alone. No forwarding address in Heaven.

“Maybe ur also a little hungover” sez my friend Angie when we meet in the Food Court. “Guess u should practice sayin Thank you but I don’t need another shot of vodka.” I tell Angie I think maybe I should not count the empties in the morning.

“R u sufferin a midlife crisis?” she asks, all serious like Dr. Phil.

Just a tiny one I tell her, but it might be PMS. Then I see a guy w/ a mic interviewing people. Hes got a PA system and is wearing a necktie so I know its the real deal. I shout ITS SHOW TIME!!! All the geri freaks wake up and stare. “Time for Beauty and the B***h!” I scream to the old guy near me. <woot>

My name is Gloria I tell the MC, but all my friends call me Gaga Mama. Ha ha he laughs into the mic. “I can see ur gaga w/ that hair stripe and that little thing in ur eyebrow. Do you have a tattoo?”

I say “I have a tat but you cant see it cuz ur not my bf. Ur cute, but if you saw it Id have to kill you. Ur old enough to be my father.”

“I can still cut the mustard” he sez, whatever that means. Then someone in the crowd shouts “Bet he can lick the pot.”

W/o thinkin I say “Knock it off you pervy freak. Go get ur own mic.”

“Oh cutie u can make my time” he sez real loud and the MC gets nervous going hm hm hm.

Yeah, I shot back, “Well ur a stalker and an Amish-lookin curled freak. Why dont u stand up and say that?” I shot my empty Coke can at him. Missed dammit, but as he topples over I see hes in a wheelchair. Slo mo like a pyramid of cans at the A&P. Bam!! My bad.

The whole Mall erupts like those farmers chasing Frankenstein. <gasp> No pitchforks. Just Macys shoppin bags. Angie shouts for us to get outta there. It’s a Zombie movie of us runnin thro the Mall w/ all these geezers whingeing and tryin to eat our spleens.

When we are safe in the car I ask Angie if she thinks I was over the top. She sez “Callin him a midget was too much. I think he was a war hero cause he had no legs.” Angie is pissed and tells me to wear a disguise next time I go to the Mall. Maybe one of those Arab tent things.

If I go it will be after I move to the Moon. Do they have Moon Malls? Damn. I know you cant drink vodka in a space suit.

See Diary? Theres a little black cloud rainin on my head. Rainin all the time. My bad. Lost my job, dissed my Mom, my bf took a hike. So long, gramps. Think theres any salvation? Father forgive me? My oopsie! Not likely in this time and place. Forgiveness is so 20th century.

If I ever get mellow again I promise to fart rainbow glitter on everybody.

About Carolyn Foulkes

Carolyn Foulkes is the pen name of a U.S. writer who has published a dozen stories in the past year: flash fiction and longer pieces in the crime, gothic, spec fic, mainstream, and humor genres.

Visit the author's page >

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