Woody

So guys I’m usually against oversharing personal stuff on social media but I feel quite an urge to share this with you today. Let me tell you about the love of my life.

It was three months ago and it was Sunday and I was late for class. I had to take a shortcut through signs of “Construction Zone” and “Do Not Pass” because my professor was an attendance-ass-kissing ass. And as I ignored the warning shouts of working-class working-on-classes workers, I came across a heavenly figure that made me immediately reconsider the proletarian strife. And guys, that moment, that’s when I met the love of my life.

“She must be a Neo-Marxist”, said my friend Bakkar who we call Bakkar because he’s dark-skinned and always comes early, like a bottle of vinegar losing its V-card.

“What do you mean Neo-Marxist?” said I who actually knows what a Neo-Marxist is, unlike dark-skinned early-coming Bakkar.

“You know she’s standing with working class people, in the sun, in the heat, on the bare ground. She must have a cause and that cause is Neo-Marxism” replied the dark guy.

I nodded and I agreed and we made some jokes about how men are trash and Jesus did nothing wrong; the usual guy-on-guy stuff.

So that day I went to the gym and did some planks and slept early and put on pants and I went through the construction zone searching for her again and here she was at the same spot, standing tall, next to salt-of-the-earth consciousness-less conscience-less lifeless proletarians.

I took her by the hand and said, “Hi” yet she didn’t reply, but stared at me, not the stare of confusion but the stare of thrill and glee.

I took her by the hand out of the construction zone and into the consciousness zone where the cafeteria. I sat her down and sat me down and ordered two cushions for lumbar support. I talked and talked and laughed and talked and her favorite movie is Toy Story and her favorite director is Woody Allen and her favorite songwriter is Justin Timberlake. She didn’t say any of that, of course, because, of course, she’s too shy, of course, yet magically somehow I knew everything she would if she weren’t and she would.

A second date was now inevitable. Yet, the high heel broke in eve of the ball; her daddy would not approve of another. A second date was now no more. And so I swallow up my guts and decide to confront him with my love.

So I take my love by the hand and through the construction zone to the most proletarian, most consciousness-less of them all, that is her father. With my love in hand, my love went through the room, that is her father’s room, and into his ear, that is her father’s ear. A moment of silence passed as his eyes scanned me. I knew immediately I was gaining his respect; a respect that was confirmed when he finally opened his mouth to tell me, “FOR FUCKING GOD’S SAKE, THIS IS LIKE WHAT NOW? THE FIFTH TIME THIS MONTH? I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU PSYCHO TAKE ANY OF MY WOOD AGAIN ON YOUR WEIRD TRIPS, I’M GONNA FUCK YOUR LIFE! YOU HEAR ME? THIS IS A FUCKING CONSTRUCTION ZONE! NOW GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!”

I went out, leaving her with her former daddy, that is her father, to fill him in with the details of our relationship. Now, we are official. I can’t wait to pick her up today for our second date. I’ll keep y’all updated!