You borrowed my socks?!**

If you were only one inch tall, you'd ride a worm to school....The teardrop of a crying ant would be your swimming pool.....You'd surf across the kitchen sink upon a stick of gum....You couldn't hug your mama, you'd just have to hug her thumb.....You'd run from people's feet in fright, To move a pen would take all night.....(This poem took fourteen years to write--'Cause I'm just one inch tall).

The Boy Named Sue composer and lyrist’s original works were first published in Playboy magazine. So does this mean people do actually read that? And poetry none the less!

I recently went into an old boyfriend’s room. As I stood there with one hand in my pocket and the other hand not on the desk beside me, I noticed how spotless it was. Maybe nookless is more accurate. I was so hesitant to touch anything as if I would taint it, scratch it, or look at it in the wrong way. I didn’t see my reflection anywhere but I felt as though I should have. At second glance I would see the same thing as the first glance. No surprises hanging out on the corner of a coffee table, lingering under a magazine, or hiding terribly from being put inside a desk drawer. What you saw is what you got.

And what you got was nice. Nice high definition screen TV. Nice collection of movies waiting for a Tuesday night in as they were meticulously stacked beside a bed made with obvious effort and precision. The stripes in the curtains complemented the book covers to the complete works of The Strong Bow Sage: Viking Warriors very nicely.

It took something as silly as being in that room at that moment to make me realize I understand why our relationship didn’t work.

Where were the nicknacks and paddywacks…..Where were the whosies and whatsies……Where were the thingamabobbers and thingamagiggers….Where were the nooks and most of all….WHERE WERE ALL THE CRANNIES?!?!

I caught myself questioning whether it was okay to put my feet up on the coffee table. Then I caught myself questioning if it was okay to question whether it was okay to put my feet up on the coffee table.

Then I heard something. “Dear Mandy, Don’t make me conform! Sincerely, That Lump of Pants Lying At Your Feet.” It made me think of an old Fatboy Slim song: Maybe someday we'll patch it all up like a favorite pair of jeans that you won't give up.

As many times as I had listened to think song I had never associated it with him. I wasn’t dwelling on the thing of the past. I wasn’t questioning it or lamenting it. Our past relationship was something I’ve grown to call “what had been.” I always knew why we hadn’t lasted. But now, standing amidst the emptiness, I understand the why.

There’s something to be said about someone’s bedroom. I’m not speaking in terms of neatness vs clutter or whether you make your bed or not- that’s a personal choice. To put in perspective, your bedroom is the least social room in your house. I can’t remember the last time my parents discussed their plans for trips to the panama with the family friends or neighbors in the bedroom. I would be disturbed if I could. Don’t you feel a deeper understanding of a friend once you’ve entered their bedroom? This is where they have spent time alone. This is where they go at night. This is the first thing they see when they start their day.

Lying around you find bits of your presence in the room, even if you’re not.

Is that what you look like when you're not there?

I want to go at night to a room where the tale of The Indian in the Cupboard seems like a possibility. The little toys could come to life and pop out of places they hide during the day…..Is that asking too much?

That way, you would fit in if you were one inch tall.

**the first phrase I heard when I started this.

I must really have a bundle of work to do and jumble of essays to write, hence the blog.....