I’m a hot dog girl. My body is made of lead and I’m pretty sure it would sink hard to the bottom of any pool. Even one of those little inflatable pools for babies. I’d sink. I don’t go near large gatherings of water, even puddles, because of the drowning fear. I feel like I wasn’t always a hot dog; I’ve just kinda grown into one because of puberty and stuff. Well, I’m not explaining this good, am I? Let me try again.
My name is Evangeline and I have developed this weird casing around my body.
It’s not thick skin, because if it were I wouldn’t plump up every time my blood gets to boiling. But it’s not like regular skin either because it has this strongER outer layer that’s got a still-able-to-be-pierced rubberiness to it that only hot dog girls have. Is this helping?
My mom keeps a book with blank pages on her dresser where she pastes paper cutouts. Some articles, some pictures, sometimes just a word: “DAHLIAS” or “Lavender” or “B rachycephaly. ” I sneak and look at it alot. Oops A LOT. A LOT is two words, did you know? Anyway, I had to look all three of those up. Two of them are flowers. One is a medical condition where you’re born with a:
“shape of a skull shorter than typical for its species. It is a normal variation in some domesticated dog and cat breeds and can be normal or abnormal in other animal species.”
They, the cutouts I mean, they come from all KINDS of places. One, the one of the baby inside the body, is from a book that used to be a library book and someone sold it to my mom on Amazon. But most are from magazines we steal from waiting rooms.*
“Bells are for pussies.”
“That collar’s for a dog.”
But I am a dog, mama. “Take it off!”
I take it off, but I don’t tell her that I’m still wearing it in my brain because I like it. I like that it helps you see where my neck is. It separates my dumb short head from lookin’ like one long body tube. But whatever, I’m a hot dog girl. I know because a dad told me the other day.
I was sitting at a picnic table at Centennial beach, away from all the burger kids, and this dad says, " You better eat that hot dog away from here, Turd." Oh did I mention I’m cool with eating what I am because you are what you eat and I eat therefore I am? Is this helping?
Well, so then all the kids started chanting "Turd! Turd! Turd!" and when I tried to move to another table, further away, the hotdog** fell onto the floor. It bounced in the way that I once saw a baby's head do on 20/20 when a nanny forgot to secure the high chair. Like a slow sideways "bibble bibble bibble" with a tippy tap of dribble.
I looked at the ground and I couldn't help but just stare at the flobby meat worm just layin’ on top of the dirt. It was still shaking a little. It reminded me of this oldie but goodie song my dad used to listen to on 101.9 "The Mix" when we'd drive to the Ozarks. I think it was called "Torned" or something. Now every time I hear that song, I can't help but think about our empty boat rocking on the lake by itself and me falling down at the Centennial beach like the naked weiner person I am. Well great, now I sound sad. I’m not sad, I’m just thinking! That helped, right?
I think my life on earth is short, and I always have. It used to freak my mom out when I’d tell her that, so I stopped telling her but I do think it. And I don’t feel bad about it. I think it’s kind of cool because it makes me feel like I have to do things faster and before it’s too late. Jennifer Garner says it takes most people til they’re 30 to feel that way. Oprah says sometimes they never do. Family Feud Survey says most people prefer hot dogs over burgers at the average American family barbecue. Alton Brown says hot dogs contain “unexpected ingredients.”
Unexpected, see! That helped.
Do you get it now, burger kid?
*I get hurt easily and A LOT
*see what I mean about getting hurt