i only wear white when it rains

I never met Banana Flowers, my friend Singamajig’s recent fling. But as someone who wants to ensure she never sees Banana again (unless I need book fodder), I did look into him on paper. To protect his and her anonymity, I will not get into the shaved nuts and bolts. But suffice it to say, Singa can do better if she put on 50 pounds, ignored her roots for a month and developed a severe case of incurable foot odor.

Singa is making her way out of a marriage and venturing into a world of throwbacks. Used, discarded return items taking up shelf space waiting to convince a newly detached (can you tell I despise the word “single”) woman to disregard what he looks like on paper because he remembers her favorite song or holds her hand during sex. At what point do we toss out the paper?

My friend Patty Melt looks like she hails from Pixie Hollow. She’s beautiful and delicate like a fairy, and reminds me of a Cadbury egg. Outfitted with a hard shell that warns you she’ll scratch your eyes out if you cross her, but all soft and gooey inside. Two children and five years of marriage to an arrogant, unfaithful re-introducer (you know – the guy who introduces himself to you even though you’ve met him 12 times before because he wants you to feel irrelevant) later, Patty Melt has moved on to someone I hope will make up for the lost years of love and light in her life. My concern is that her new love is not new, but rather “recycled.” An old boyfriend whose timing just wasn’t right. Is he her soulmate or sour milk?

Enter Lucas Lightning. Way cheaper than my therapist, although somewhat less qualified. His theory of spoilt milk maintains that if you take the milk out of the refrigerator and it smells sour, you don’t put it back. If I want to discredit him, I will point out another couple I know who seemed to wait long enough to reinvent and let their spoilt milk turn into delicious cottage cheese. Their relationship was less milk carton and more chrysalis. But when you recycle, how do you know whether your head is going to snap back if you take a whiff? I guess some of us take the chance and get sick. Some get a delicious side to their salad. And others? Maybe they put the milk back and wait for garbage day because they know they need to throw it out, but don’t want their trash to stink.

Lucky for me, I don’t drink milk unless Starbucks froths it into my latte.

When Patty Melt and I attended the Bucs Throwback game this season, we tore our closets apart looking for retro jerseys or Tees to no avail. I can only hope that was symbolic. I usually don’t consider myself a throwback. I was the one who said “uncle.” And even though I struggle with whether trading in the monogrammed family Christmas footies was strong or weak, I’m not sure I could know that answer for many years to come.

It seems though that for now, if I start feeling like a throwback, sitting in a Target return bin next to wrong-sized screwdrivers and broken dollhouses, I hope that I’ll still have the confidence not to BananaFlower. Or recycle. I think I can still order the Christmas footies too. I’ll just have to monogram: Copper Monkey. Patty Melt. Lucas Lightning. Scrabble. Penelope. Singa…