Lessons From the Kissing Booth

You know, one of these days here soon we are going to go on an adventure. I haven't felt much like adventuring lately, oscillating unreasonably between refusing to leave my apartment and staying out much, much too late; all of which is a kind of adventure, certainly, but not the right kind.

So my plan for us is this: we are going to build a clown car out of popsicle sticks and chewing gum and drive around the block twelve times listening to the Stereo Total song "I Am Naked" the whole time. I can guarantee that I'll be giggling uncontrollably for the entire experience because I think that song is the funniest shit going, and by the time we've finished round twelve and pulled back up in front of your apartment you'll be ready for pretending we're unicorns or bank robbing or boxing or whatever ridiculous thing I've decided is next. And that, there, will be our adventure. Or anyway, part of it.

Because you know what e e cummings meant when he said, "You and I wear the dangerous looseness of doom and find it becoming. Life,for eternal us,is now;and now is much too busy being a little more than everything to seem anything,catastrophic included." Back before I wrote your name on my games of MASH and rigged it so you always won you perhaps wondered if it was even possible to build a clown car out of anything but cartoons. And clearly, the answer to that is yes.

But the more important answer is that the next rest stop might be inhabited by a lost princess with cornflower blue eyes, and we could be her only way to safety. And three towns over could be the shortbread recipe of my dreams. On the other side of this very city there just might be one last lamp with one last genie with one last wish, and I could totally waste that wish on a lifetime supply of gravy.

And that, there, might be another part of the adventure.