Kiss Me, I’m Iris (sample)
My St. Paddy’s Day tradition is to wear navy blue. Or chocolate brown. Or whatever I can find in my closet that bounces light outside the green-leaning sector of the spectrum. Why? Because every dork and his brother wears green. Because you’re supposed to wear green. And up with that I will not put. “Iris Ibernia Leech,” as my mother would say. The three-naming thing so you know that she’s airing a grievance. Or sometimes she’ll just cluck, and go, “Mary, Mary, quite contrary,” which doesn’t even make sense, I refer you to my name. But this isn’t a head game. Pinky swear. I’m not just contrary for the sake of being contrary. Or malcontent. Or willful. Or whatever word they wrap things up in so it sounds a little nicer than they mean. It’s not that hard to figure out. I just don’t like people.
Let’s clarify. I’m not offended. That is not why I scowl. Look, I’m Irish; I don’t care what people think, okay? But I gotta call out stupidity when I see it, because if I didn’t, I’d bust. “Oh, and how much stupidity can you actually see,” you’re about to ask. Well, I’m a junior at Rockaway High. That is the only answer you need to that statement. If you’ve never toured the masterpiece of late-‘70s architecture that is my school, well, allow me to guide you, bowing and scraping. Rockaway, yeah. First off, it’s not the East one in Long Island, I would give my eye teeth to be someplace as cool as Long Island, and to know what eye teeth were, incidentally. No, how sad is this scenario? I’m in Maine—we’re in Maine. It’s cold here. It’s cold and I am freezing all the time. Anyway, Rockaway’s special ‘cause all those jokes you see in movies, where there’s two dumb guys in the back of the room and one of them says something idiotic and the other one laughs and goes “Nice,” and they high-five like morons, well, this is where Hollywood gets ‘em. I exaggerate not. It’s just classrooms full of those guys and the guys who sit next to them going “Nice.” I swear to God I wonder how they figure out who’s gonna be who. Wait, but, no, I’m not done.
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