Dust Bunnies

A perimenopause-induced kinda sorta true flash essay

I WAS AT A HOTEL restaurant and asked the waitress—

Well, first off, we bonded because I was sweating and she asked, is the AC not working?

And I’m like, no, it’s just me, and I give her a look.

And she’s like, I understand completely.

And I’m like, girl?

And she’s like, girl!

And I’m like, why are we calling each other girl?

And she’s like, right?!

And I’m like, it just makes no sense.

And she’s like, we’re literally burning through the last of our girl cells and turning into dust.

And I’m like, word!

And she’s like, wow, I haven’t heard anyone use that phrase in a long time.

And I’m like, let’s bring ‘word’ back.

And she’s like, okay, I’m down.

And I’m like, the patriarchy is never gonna die if two fifty-year-old women are calling each other girl.

And she says, oh, we’re on that again, are we?

And I say, it’s just men call women girls until one day they call them ladies, you know? I mean, what the fuck? Check out THAT subtext.

And she’s like, you’re right, we shouldn’t perpetuate that.

And I say, I always liked the term ‘lady,’ but now women hate it because they know the dude saying it is actually saying you’re unfuckable.

And she says, yeah, you’re a lady, and I only fuck girls.

And I say, ha-ha, you’re hilarious.

And she says, dust bunnies.

And I’m like, what?

And she says, when we hit the hot flash stage, we should call ourselves dust bunnies.

And I’m like, oh, that’s cute; you’re fucking brilliant.

And she’s like, word?

And I’m like, not just word, word UP!

And she’s like, word to your mama, and then we laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh, and she says, so what can I get you to drink?

And I ask, do you have Pepsi?

And she frowns and says, unfortunately yes.

So I frown, and I’m like, usually places only have Coke.

And she’s like, I’ve had people turn down a Jack and soda when they find out it’s Pepsi.

And I’m like, I love Jack and Pepsi.

And she’s like, that’s disgusting.

And I’m like, oh, I see what this is.

And she’s like, fuck you, bitch.

And I say, Pepsi is way better than Coke, you hot-flashin’ ho.

So she says, get your Pepsi-drinking ass out of my restaurant.

So I say, gladly, little lady.

And she’s like, oh fuck off.

And I’m like, back at ya, and I flip her off, and I start to leave mad as hell but stop short at the door and yell, it’s a conspiracy!

And she’s like, what?

And I’m like, everywhere I go, everyone serves Coke, and it’s hard to find a Pepsi.

And she says, bullshit, it’s Pepsi that’s everywhere and Coke that’s hard to find, and then she trails off, and we look at each other, and I slowly go back to my table and sit down, and she’s like, how about a Cherry Pepsi?

And I’m like, that sounds perfect, thank you.

And she smiles and says, it does, it really does.

Enjoyed this dispatch from the dust bunny frontier? This is On the Page: Home of my true stories (essays, short-form memoir, flash, the occasional unclassifiable) . . . some of which escape the page and end up told live onstage. Subscribe and you’ll get more where this came from, aka true stories, oddballs, oral storytelling and thoughts on producing a live storytelling show when you’re a person who’d really rather go cocoon in their hidey hole.

And if you’d like to hear MORE oral storytelling: I co-run In a Nutshell Storytelling in Sacramento, where curated true stories get told live on stage, some shared here on Substack. Come see one. xoxo, Amy Bee, who LOVES Pepsi