So this Angel thing is growing all out of proportion, literally. I noticed, while walking down a long hallway at work today, that my wings were dragging behind me like a bride-zillas satin and lace train. And early this week, I could feel them growing In as well as Out, meaning it felt like they were somehow anchoring themselves on my lungs and heart, which any good Christian will tell you has something to do with the ultimate holiness of Angels and their souls but I’m here to tell you that ain’t it at all.
And then there’s the whole underwear thing. Since becoming Angel, I’ve suddenly felt obligated to wear underwear, which is something I haven’t felt obligated to do since I was 17. And it hasn’t been pleasant, even though I invested in some fairly nice, imported bloomers. By the end of the day, my nuts are aching, so I don’t know why on earth I continue to wear the goddamn things. It’s not as though I have these great large round porn star low hangers. But even my little tight white acorns are way too restricted, and maybe Angels are full of pain, but if so I suspect it’s more heartache from watching how stupid the humans are rather than physical discomfort, so I’m going to try to get back to commando effective immediately.
But some people are noticing, even if they don’t know what it is they’re noticing. At least three different women who care for me on some level or another have commented that “something is different” about me over the past week, and really, one doesn’t want to just blurt “oh that must be where I’m becoming Angel” because that makes one sound mad as a hatter rather than evolving into something new and wonderful.
So I just smile and let them assume it’s Botox.