Tag Archives: Precious Memories

Marginalia, no.208

I brooded like the dickens.

~ P.G. Wodehouse, ‘Scoring off Jeeves’

One day in sixth grade I was summoned to the locker where B (dictatrix of schoolyard popularity) stood surrounded by her coterie of toadies. She ran her fingers through my hair, which there and then convinced me of the truth of every miracle ever committed. “I always wondered,” she lingered over each word, “what a monkey’s ass felt like.” Which convinced me of the devil’s wiles too. I mulled my revenge for months afterward, but never attempted it. Instead, to this day, when I catch myself in the midst of some folly, I do B the honor of putting hand to head and replying, “Yes, that’s exactly what it feels like.”

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