voicemail

Do you think I’m being totally lame right now? Does this like, totally make you lose respect for me? I know it’s so retro to be worried about calorie count in this day and age but I just know I’m going to feel like such a piece of shit in the morning. I feel like it’s probably, like, so not feminist to be stressed about a fucking brownie but it was a brownie on top of carbs on top of a shitty day. Do you ever feel like you just totally hate yourself?

I thought about you the other day, when I was driving onto the 405. A fucking Prius almost sideswiped me on the on-ramp. Don’t you think Prius owners are just masking their aggression towards others by parading around their little humanity-friendly hybrids? It’s so anti-social. I’m sorry about the time I yelled at you for letting the gas spill out of the pump last summer. I know it was an accident, but you know how clumsy you can be.

I found another gray hair last night. Remember when we thought we would grow old together? I heard that Mark started dating some twenty-three year old he met at Starbucks. He was always such a perv, I don’t know how you were ever friends with him. I wish I was still twenty-three.

My mom keeps asking about you. I mean, really, she just thinks you’re her last hope at grandkids. Do you think I’d be a good mother? I’m sorry about that time I slapped you. I would never do that to our kid. Never ever ever. I’m really sorry about that. I think about it all the time.

Anyways, I know it’s late over there but call me when you get a chance. This is Cathy, by the way.