By Aimee Nezhukumatathil
If by real you mean as real as a shark tooth stuck
in your heel, the wetness of a finished lollipop stick,
the surprise of a thumbtack in your purse—
then Yes, every last page is true, every nuance,
bit, and bite. Wait. I have made them up—all of them—
and when I say I am married, it means I married
all of them, a whole neighborhood of past loves.
Can you imagine the number of bouquets, how many
slices of cake? Even now, my husbands plan a great meal
for us—one chops up some parsley, one stirs a bubbling pot
on the stove. One changes the baby, and one sleeps
in a fat chair. One flips through the newspaper, another
whistles while he shaves in the shower, and every single
one of them wonders what time I am coming home.
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My neighbor Rose took me to the movies on Friday, something we've had plans to do since before Aquaman opened though we never got to that one together. We saw Isn't It Romantic, which is very fun -- a rom-com that mocks the more terrible tropes of rom-coms, though I'm not sure that you get to have a stereotyped gay character and claim you're only doing it to scoff at the stereotype, though the Star Is Born remake has pretty much that character so maybe it still does need to be exposed for what it is. Rebel Wilson is delightful and though there's not enough Liam Hemsworth, he is shirtless quite a bit.
Rose had to go teach a fitness class in the afternoon, so I went to the park to take a walk since the weather was ridiculously nice -- in the 60s and sunny -- then came back here for a late lunch and some chores that had to get done. We had dinner at my parents' house, came home for Blindspot, then I made Paul watch The Last Song because I'd never seen it and needed more Liam Hemsworth. It's a lot more tolerable than most Nicholas Sparks adaptations. Here is some art from the Torpedo Factory in Alexandria, including Christine Cardellino's funny-distressing presidential The Fisherman and His Wife:
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