Kewl

There was a time in my life where I thought I was really effing cool. Cool like an ocean breeze. Cool like The Fonz. I think every kid goes through the “I’m so cool and ironic in my vintage clothes and pink hair and peace sign Sharpied onto an old Army satchel." phase. The "I am making a statement about being unique in a society full of sheep!” stage. Because, you know, no one ever dyed their hair pink before you or wore clothes from the thrift store. You are TOTALLY the first person to do that. How do you get through the day being so damn GROOVY? I don’t know, people, I just did.

Then one day you look in the mirror and you think, “Is it possible that I have gravely misread the situation and I am actually a complete TOOL?” And you panic and buy something that isn’t black and dye your hair a colour that IS found in nature and find other ways to express yourself that don’t involve frowning in a hostile manner at people with perms who listen to the Top 40 for their incredible lack of imagination or taste.

Although, you know, those people do need a reality check. Who gets a perm nowadays? Did they not see pictures from the ‘80s? Did no one learn ANYTHING?

Sometimes when I’m driving somewhere I see groups of sullen teens congregating on a corner somewhere, poutily checking their iPhones and peering out from behind their giant Emo fringes and inch thick eyeliner and I want to open the window and yell, “Enjoy it now kid because tomorrow? You will be wearing a suit and talking about 401Ks and wearing HEELS and worrying about your lipstick matching your shirt and how to pay your rent. You will look back at photos of you from today and you will think, ‘Wow, when was I in a Tim Burton movie?’ and you will wonder what the hell you were so miserable about when your biggest problem was your mom objecting to you getting black dye on her favourite towels.” And then I will twist the knife by shouting, “I was like you once and look at me now!” and if they never contemplated suicide before, they surely will after that.

Then I will probably crash into a pole because I’m too busy yelling to watch where I’m driving and those kids will be like, “OH MY GOD, look at that old person, she should get her eyesight checked, let’s end it all if we ever get to be like that!” And I will climb out of my wrecked car with blood all over my face and my dignity all over the sidewalk and I will clench my fist and drag my half-dead, bloody leg stump over there, growl menacingly and say, “Can I borrow your phone before I bleed to death?”