November 29, 2008

One afternoon, my friend and I were lying on the trampoline of our catamaran. We weren’t going to dive again that day, so we had anchored to the southwest of Saint Kitts and were relaxing.

This friend was older, and Canadian. To me, she seemed wise and beautiful, a practitioner of the sort of dolce vita afforded young people in soft-socialist countries where the state runs the universities, the kind of person who might spend one year working on her dissertation on Husserl, and then another as a ski bum or surf instructor~in short, a formidable union of goods.

So we’re lying there, and the conversation makes its way to grad school. She starts telling me about her friend who’s studying to become an aesthetician. Naturally, I am enthralled, and start asking all sorts of questions. But things start to feel awkward.

And slowly, it begins to dawn on me that my friend is talking about an aspiring manicurist.

Advertisements

One Response to “”

  1. Luca Says:

    the premise of my first play was a cosmetologist mistaken for a cosmologist


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: