America’s New-boyfriend Troubles….

I was excited last week when I got an invitation to a party over at America’s house. For one thing, I was looking forward to seeing what the new place looked like. She has lived in a LOT of houses, over the years, and some of them you wouldn’t wish on Antarctica.

Not like Antarctica was invited, of course. Everyone knows if you ask Antarctica anywhere she just starts up with the business. Oh, my ice sheet is melting, oh I keep shedding chunks of my shelf, blah blah blah. Whenever I see Antarctica, I just want to say, girlfriend: you’re a wreck.

When I first met America, she was living in a teepee. Seriously. You should have seen the clothes. Beads and fringe and feathers. She was like, I’m going over to the Pilgrims’ house! And we were like, You’re wearing that?

Then she moved in with England for a while, but surprise, surprise: they had this BIG blowup. After that, she moved out west. This was a very difficult period, and when I say difficult I mean: chaps and leather. Ten gallon hats. It was rough.

This was when I lost touch with America for a while, which I feel bad about, but then you know the old saying: History is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.

So imagine how delighted I was when I heard she’d been to Europe—not once but twice! Apparently there was this big crisis over at Germany’s house and she organized an intervention. Germany went on this twelve-step plan and came back all buff. First time I saw him, in fact, I was, like, whoa, who is that? Holland’s little brother?

We were close, America and me, when I was growing up. To be quite honest, I looked up to her. She’d been through a lot of changes, but you had to respect her. At long last she seemed to have found herself.

Which was why we were all so surprised when she took up with Iraq. Not that I have anything against Iraq, but he’s so immature! Still, she saw something in him. She’d gone out with him before, back in 91, but this time it seemed serious.

And for the first few months, it seemed like it was all going to work out for her. She lost weight. You’d see her jogging in the morning with her torch and that crown with the little spikey things on it, which I know seems so totally 1770s, but what can I tell you: somehow she made it work.

Then we started hearing rumors about her war, how Iraq was secretly seeing some theocracy behind her back.

And so, as we sat around her new house, me and all her old friends, we had to ask. Are you happy? Is this what you wanted?

America started crying. I don’t know! She said. It was nice at first, but now it’s just—a quagmire!

She looked at us in desparation. I feel so alone! She said.

And all her old friends were like, of course you’re not alone. Why do you shut us out? Why do you always have to do everything on your own?

We all had a big cry, and then we all hugged, and then we opened up the presents. Kenya brought some coffee. Belgium brought waffles. Ireland brought some whiskey, same as always. “Hey,” said Ireland. “Is it okay if we open this now?”

I don’t know what’s going to happen with Iraq, but I’m hoping America will realize we love her. There’s nothing she could do that would change that. But I don’t know. Sometimes she troubles me.

We were all about to leave, when who comes bursting through the door but Antarctica, drenched and frosty, and in two seconds she starts up with the business. “I’m melting!” she wailed, dropping an ice shelf in the foyer. “I’m coming to pieces!”

Well Jeez, Antarctica, I thought. You’re not the only one.

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3 Comments

  1. The Hangar Queen
    Posted January 11, 2009 at 3:26 am | Permalink

    Haaarrr…I’m first!

    ..and yes,I did bring the whiskey.

    Drop of the aul’ craithur there Boylan?

  2. Jennifer Finney Boylan
    Posted January 11, 2009 at 10:22 am | Permalink

    in the words of Andy M. Stewart:

    Let your quacks and newspapers be cutting their capers
    About curing the vapors the scratch and the gout
    With their medical potions, their serums and their lotions
    Upholding their notions, they’re mighty put out.

    Who can tell the true physic to all that’s pathetic
    And pitch to the divil, cramp, colic and spleen
    You’ll know it I think if you take a big drink
    With your mouth to the brink of a jug of poteen

    So stick to the cratur’ the best thing in nature
    For sinking your sorrows and raising your joys
    Oh what botheration, no dose in the nation
    Can give consolation like poteen me boys.

    No liquid cosmetic to lovers athletic
    Or bodies pathetic can give such a bloom
    As the sweet by the powers in the garden of flowers
    Ever gave their own bowers such a darling perfume
    And this liquid so rare if you willingly share
    To be taking your hair when it’s frizzled and dead
    Oh the sod has the merit to yield the true spirit
    So strong it will shake all the hairs from your head

    Then stick to the cratur’ the best thing in nature
    For sinking your sorrows and raising your joys
    Oh since its perfection, no doctor’s direction
    Can cleanse the complexion like poteen me boys

    While a child in me cradle, me nurse with her ladle
    Was filling my mouth with a notion of pap
    When a drop from her bottle fell into my throttle
    I stumbled and capered clean out of her lap

    On the floor I lay crawlin’ and screaming and bawling
    ‘Til me mother and father were called to the fore
    All sobbing and sighing they feared I was dying
    But soon found I only was crying for more.

    So stick to the cratur’ the best thing in nature
    For sinking your sorrows and raising your joys
    Oh lord how they’d chuckle if babes in their truckle
    They only could suckle on poteen me boys

    Through my youthful aggression, through times of depression
    My childhood’s impression still clung to my mind
    And at school or at college the basis of knowledge
    I never could gulp ’til with whiskey combined

    And as older I’m growing times ever bestowin’
    On Erin’s potation, a flavor so fine
    And how ere they may lecture on jove and his nectar
    Itself is the only true liquid divine

    So stick to the cratur’ the best thing in nature
    For sinking your sorrows and raising your joys
    Oh lord, ’tis the right thing for courting and fighting
    There’s nowt so exciting as poteen me boys.

    Come guess me this riddle, what beats pipes and fiddle
    What’s hotter than mustard and milder than cream
    What best wets your whistle, what’s clearer than crystal
    What’s sweeter than honey and stronger than steam

    What’ll make the lame walk, what will make the dumb talk,
    The elixir of life and philospher’s stone
    And what helped Mr. Brunnell to build the Thames Tunnel
    Wasn’t it poteen from ould Inisowen

    So stick to the cratur’ the best thing in nature
    For sinking your sorrows and raising your joys
    Oh lord, it’s no wonder, if lightning and thunder
    Weren’t made from the plunder of poteen me boys.

    You maidens pathetic, with lovers athletic
    For liquid cosmetic, you can’t beat the drop
    With a glow to your cheek, it will make your heart leap
    It’ll quiet a stallion or cure an old cob
    At the mouth you would drool, be reduced to a fool
    You’d kick up your heels and you’d peel to the buff
    Then ’tis he’d be pathetic while you’d be athletic
    If only you’d take a few drops of the stuff

    So stick to the cratur’ the best thing in nature
    For sinking your sorrows and raising your joys
    For there’s nothing like whiskey to make maidens frisky
    It soon separates all the men from the boys.

  3. The Hangar Queen
    Posted January 11, 2009 at 3:50 pm | Permalink

    ‘Tis true for him.

    I think Antarctica needs to get outside of some if you ask me.Bloody Southern Hemisphere-ers.Always fecking late to everything and always ‘forget’ to bring anything except the drama.

    I’ll be in the Gazebo with Spain.We’ve got some catching up to do…..I mean he did bring olives…like.

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