Jess’ girl

I’m not Jess’ girl.That’s Whitney.

Whitney and Jess share a bond as impenetrable as the anus of a moth.

Moth anus.
Moth anus.

And as much as I like Jess, I am cognizant of the fact that our bond is as loose as a tossed salad.

The one thing I do have over Whitney, however, is geographic location. I’m 15 minutes from wherever Jess is at any moment, while Whit is 5 hours and $500 away at all moments.

I venture to think that the distance makes Whitney antsy about losing that moth anus bond, which is why I’ve decided to write her a letter to put her at ease, and once and for all declare her as Jess’ girl.

Dear Ms. Houston:

When I first met Jessica, I did not expect to like her. Not because she was white, but because she was not Hispanic.

She worked really hard at overcoming her language barrier and made a great effort at speaking just as fast and loud as a Spanish-speaker, even though she was speaking in English. As our linguistic relationship grew, she taught me words like “may,” as in “May I have another croqueta,” and “please,” as in “Please take me home, the bartender refuses to serve me more alcohol.

I would mention the words I taught her, but, as you know, she decided to use them while attempting to have a conversation with my mother, and, it’s all still very painful for me to discuss publicly.

Despite her language issues, she taught me how to be really polite and caring to those less fortunate. For instance, she shaved my legs and donated the hair to Locks of Love. And she came up with nicknames for people, so we could talk about them openly without running the risk of hurting their feelings. Most importantly, she gave me hope – especially when she told me that my dad was not in fact dead, but just pretending to be, so he could fulfill his dream of becoming a drag queen.

Whitney, I can see why you love her so much. She is…special.

I’ve enjoyed every moment I spent with her. She is the joy of my GChat. She is my partner in misdemeanors. She entertains my lofty goals and convinces me that I can achieve them by sitting on the beach with a beer in hand. She, for a short while, was my co-pirate. (That’s not an Asian joke).

But even still, you had nothing to worry about Whitney. She was always yours. She was just on-loan to me until her time came to return to the Land of the Whites.

Only I realize now, as that hour draws near, that I will be the one that lives 5 hours and $500 away. I will be the one wondering what bar she is getting kicked out of. I will be the one missing her antics. And I will be the one receiving letters from crazy bitches who think that they could replace me as Jess’ girl.   



Number two.

P.S. Happy birthday Whitney. 

Published by Mari

I was born with a widow's peak and a thick accent. I majored in English as a second language. I work ( and travel ( and sometimes do both.

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