Superwoman

There was this perverted whim I once had. To understand, appreciate and be able to utter, all the slang that language has had to liberty to concoct. But my mouth won't open, whenever, I said the word inside my mind and had the honest intention of making it heard out loud, my goddamn mouth just won't open. Like my lips were pursed with some archaic glue of femininity. A glue that eluded all the obscenity that existed in mankind, and walked away straight faced.

But as life often solves many of its problems like a well-oiled self-sufficient machine, it solved this one of mine. I found a teacher. He would sit with me, devoting hours of sleep deprived nights, until, I said it, until I said that mutherfucking word. Looking right into his eyes, out loud, with the right amount of venom, that deserved to be thrown out of my system. He would even incentivize the whole thing for me. By tempting me with a pout, a peck, even sometimes a kiss, if I was par excellence.One new slang every night. Such that, in a few months, I would write my own dictionary of them. And become Superwoman. Of sorts.


2 comments:

Vagabond said...

*But as life often solves many of its problems like a well-oiled self-sufficient machine, it solved this one of mine. I found a teacher.*


cheers to all the teachers out there.

Merlin said...

The good girl eh! Doesn't get better