Martha

She’s skint and lives in a box. A cardboard box that she took from the dumpster behind the UPS store. No, she lives in a large place.

She screams often. No, she just has a very loud voice. She has a very soft voice, and had to take voice lessons at her local community college to reclaim it.      

She’s shrewish. Nope, she’s calm and peaceful. She thinks that everybody loves her. She thinks that everybody hates her. She might be right.

She’s multi-lingual. She counts body language, and Pig Latin among her languages. She studies oinks. She wrote a song that pigs love bacon too, and even the vegetarians in her suburb started eating bacon (only at night–in darkness, you know). She speaks one language, but knows that monolingualism doesn’t exist.

She wears bright colors to look like her favorite bag of candy. She believes that colorful clothing reflects happiness. She wears only black clothes mourning her losses. She mourns the loss of her first love, but she can’t remember his name. She can’t remember her first love’s name…was it her best friend Faith who moved away?

She has never been away. She thinks the world is dangerous. She is homeless, because her heart is nowhere. She’s looking for a home and so she travels everywhere. She thinks the world is only in her mind. It’s a safe place.

She is a genius. She is a fool. She lives to jest.

She saw a man die once and was happy when he woke up. She understands that to die means many things. She likes the poem that begins, “I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow. I feel my fate in what I cannot fear. I learn by going where I have to go.”
She is an insomniac and wakes to wake.

She is ancient. She is young. She is a baby in the next life. She doesn’t understand the passage of time. She read in a book that she’s dust and will become dust. She thinks her heart is ash.

She encompasses all things. She’s the devil incarnate. She’s divine.

Dorothy

In the past week, I’ve referred to myself as a golden girl three times. I wish I were saying “life is golden and easy breezy,” and not “I’m graying and weary, so please don’t call after 10pm.” Yet, it occurs to me that the Golden Girls would be offended at my comparison, as they were spry, had swinging social lives, and were always decked in sequins. After Bob Mackie left Diana Ross and Cher, he must have swung by their Miami condo and dressed them for their evenings out.

An evening out seems like an interesting concept, but I think I’d need a book to guide me on that venture. What would it entail? Would I need good underwear? Would I wear blush? Would it involve dancing/music/food/laughter/tickets/nice shoes/sequins? So many questions, especially as my evenings now consist of watching a little Golden Girls on Lifetime, in my flannel pajamas, before retiring for the night.

Referring to oneself as a Golden Girl is just a common way of saying “I’m an old broad;” but the more I think about them, and watch their antics, the more appealing their lives become. What’s there not to love? They live in sizzling Miami, they have cheap rent (since they’re sharing a house in an already affordable state), they date regularly (and Blanche more than that), they eat quite alot of cheesecake and never once say the word “diet” or worry about their waistlines, they have a strong support system in each other and they wear incredible jewelry. All in all, their lives are well-rounded, full and seemingly satisfying, whereas my life, at this stage, is milquetoast.

If I were a Golden Girl, which Golden Girl would I be isn’t yet a game, but maybe soon it will be. It should be one with trivia questions, flash cards, and bonus rounds that involve scenarios that begin with “Picture this,” and end in St. Olaf anecdotes. It’d be such a hit. Sex and the City borrowed heavily from the Golden Girls with its characterizations of the four women, and since most women have a SAC character with whom they identify, likewise, they have a matching Golden Girl counterpart.

I’m Dorothy: sarcastic, a teacher, gets the least action of the friends, the tall one, the hard-shelled one. (I’m gonna try for Blanche! :)).