“If You Did It…”
Monday, December 4th, 2006
This week’s question:
Since Murdoch pulled the plug on OJ, he’s asked you pen an “If I Did It, Here’s How it Happened” book instead—what’s yours about?
Next week’s question:
By now, we’ve all seen Britney’s hoo hoo. What’s the most unpleasant surprise you ever found under someone’s clothes?
Your answer goes here (in 100 words or less, please). We’ll post our favorites on the front page of SMITH.
My ex-boyfriend and I had a dog together. I mean it was his; he had it for about 5 years before I came into the picture. When we broke up because he was not the monogamous type; I definitely did not take the key I still had to his house and I totally did not take the dog and move 500 miles away. I mean I would never do that. It also looked like the dog ran away. I mean the gate was open. So you must have left the dog outside and the gate swung open. Cause I never took her. If I did take her though, that’s how I would have done it.
Once, I was temping at this big firm in midtown where even the bald,toothless executives think they’re Ted Turner, when I got hooked into a dead-end conversation with an aging lobby receptionist who fancied herself a singer. While I may have unintentionally signed up for one of her abhorrent voice lessons, I most certainly did NOT give her self-produced CD an anonymous one-star rating online, which read: …has the production value of an analog 4-track, garage band studio, only rivaled by its amateur, sophomoric content and it’s shameful that it is being sold for a dollar, much less eighteen.
Of course I’m not still sleeping with your girlfriend. We broke up hours, maybe even days, before you two got together. I mean, if I were, it would probably be on her lunch hour, and it’s convenient how close her office is to mine. Those business suits slip off and on again with nary a wrinkle. Showers at the gym. Easy. And, sure, she could even stop by for a quickie on her way home and you’d still be too fucking stupid to figure it out. But, you know, she doesn’t. She loves how boring, bald, and rich you are. Really.
High point or the low point? I’m not sure, but the quick work two Christmases ago at my uncle Andy’s house remains a point of pride in my light-fingered love of other people’s meds. Dinner wasn’t for another 30 minutes, so I scurried past the guest bathroom and up the spiral staircase to the master bedroom, my uncle shared with either his third or fourth wife, I’d lost track. I gently pushed the glass door to his medicine cabinet and, as predicted, among the cottonballs and nail polish was a pill container with promise. With Spidey senses tingling but not recognizing the name on the bottle I called the one friend I knew who could help a man in a tight spot such as this, hoping that Roxy the chocolate lab curled up on the bed a few feet from me would continue playing it cool. Leon, a computer scientist with an honorary degree in pharmacology, answered on one ring. He was in the middle of getting his own bird prepped for dinner, but was happy to step into his home office and confirm what we both in our bones knew: it was the generic brand for Vicodin. Merry Christmas. Peace on earth. I don’t remember a thing.
In first grade we had pop time-telling quizzes. I was always one of the smart kids, firmly situated in the top reading group and playing the bunny with the most lines in the class play. But those clocks. The hands and numbers blurred in shapes and angles that had nothing to do with the blinking red digits on my Rainbow Bright watch. So when quizzes came around, full of printed circles and daunting blanks separated by colons, the only way to pass would be a quick peek toward the paper of perfect Molly Tice. But you can’t prove a thing.
Look, my family comes first. I would never, ever say I’m going out for high tea at Sweet Melissa and somehow wind up with my BFF at the Tex Mex place they give us free drinks because we extravagantly overtip. It’s IMPOSSIBLE to drink four margaritas in an hour. I would never call from a bar and say that I’m having train trouble and just go ahead and put the kids to bed. Because everyone knows that once you become a mother, you never do stuff like that. But if I did, I’d do it that way. Except I didn’t.