I can’t help but think, “What if?”
the drinking age was 18 again?
men and women switched roles?
my parents didn’t force me to go to college?
I was still with him?
My only answer is, “So what?”
What if the drinking age was 18 again?
So what if the drinking age is 21? We’re not allowed to drink because authority tells us too, yet some of the best drinking years we spend are under the legal limit. I’ve been “21” since I was fifteen, according to a tiny, rectangular piece of plastic that I hide in my wallet. No matter how many times it has been taken away from me, no matter how many friends of mine have received underage drinking charges, and no matter how many regretful decisions I’ve made while intoxicated, I assure you, I will never let this policy stop my fun. Besides, at the rate I’m going, I feel like once I actually reach the golden age of 21, I’ll be tired of drinking and resort to staying in on Friday nights with a bowl of popcorn and a good romantic comedy… Who am I kidding, that will never happen to me.
What if men and women switched roles?
So what if we live in a “man’s world?” We’ve come a long way since the earlier days. In fact, women have evolved into controlling not only their own cash flow, but their men as well. Little do men know that with every inch of skin we show, another string is tied neatly from their ligaments to our pretty little fingers. Back in those early days, women hardly showed their ankles, let alone arms or (god forbid) neck line. No wonder the men wouldn’t let them leave the kitchen, they were getting fashion tips from their grandmothers. Maybe we can’t make them stop being arrogant assholes every once in a while, but sometimes the puppeteer needs a break, too.
What if my parents didn’t force me to go to college?
So what if I can’t live in the Virgin Islands and drink away my parents’ savings? That all sounds lovely, but honestly where would I be in ten years? Drinking at the same sandy beach with a beer belly and five screaming kids, all with different (some unknown) fathers. I would be lucky to have a stable job by then. Even with all of the stresses of exams, hours, majors, and bullshit that every parent beams at the thought of, it’s pretty nice to be guaranteed at least a decent career in something. God only knows what that will be, but maybe someday I’ll be thanking mom and dad for making me take Principles of Biology… twice.
Finally, the inevitable end and possibly worst and most confusing part of my rant.
What if I was still with him?
So what if I’m single? So what if we broke up after three weeks of dating? So what if I thought I loved him too soon? So what if he wants me back? He does want me back, though. And I miss him… a lot. If I was still with him I would miss him more than I do now. Tonight I finally received closure, an hour long phone call of him telling me how he screwed up and how I deserved better and how he misses me a lot too and how he wishes he acted differently… What if he’s right? What if I do deserve better? He said the two of us are a right fit for each other, that he needs me. Strangely I never felt like he needed me, the whole time I thought it was the other way around. Sometimes it is during the act of closure that we define a relationship for what it truly was.
We (plural pronouns in present tense): functionally dysfunctional; crazy in love without a sense of time or direction; only having one purpose, to be with eachother.
What if I was still with him? So what if I don’t know? I’m not a fucking psychic.