I bought one, a sponge girlfriend. You get them at the Dollar Scholar. They're these little pressed-sponge pellets in the shape of a tiny girlfriend and you toss one into a full bathtub and then the next day, you have a full-sized girlfriend made out of a soggy sponge.
The one I got was named Alexandra. I helped her out of the bath and she was one solid piece of soaked sponge, bright blue and she had a dress sculpted onto her body. She had a good shape and she had a wet voice, if that makes any sense.
Okay, I know it doesn't, but you should have heard her talk.
She knew a lot about books, but in that strictly academic way. I think the word I want is “sclerotic,” which is applicable, because, after all, she's a sponge. I mean a sponge is nothing if not flexible, but it was like her opinions were implanted into her. Which they must have been, shriveled up in her head, just waiting for moisture to blow them up.
Sponge girlfriends drip. I should tell you. That's a drawback. If I held her, I would get drenched in water that smelled like chemicals. It made the colors in my clothes run. So, while the whole idea was to just have someone to hold onto and talk to and do it for cheap, there were these unforeseen circumstances. Also, she was a good cook, but when she was frying anything, she was dripping water into the pan and oil started shooting everywhere. She had to stick to boiling things. We ate a lot of spaghetti.
We didn't agree on much. When the war started, she was so angry and I said it was hellish, sure, war, but it would be for the best. She said some liberal shit like it was just to benefit the rich and powerful. I told her that she was a sponge from a Chinese factory and just three days old, so what the fuck did she know about anything? She wouldn't speak to me for days after that. One day I just broke down and apologized. I'll tell you I cried. I told her I didn't soak her in my tub to mistreat her, but to love her. I held her. She was clammy and a bit mildewed, but I squeezed her so hard that water gushed from her waist.
You're wondering about sex. Okay. I'll say we tried. But her dress didn't come off. I mean, she wasn't anatomically specific. And I wasn't going to get a pocketknife and just cut a hole in her. Good God. It wasn't all about that. We had to do it in the shower. Let me say we made something work and she apologized profusely and that kind of broke my heart.
She was hanging out here for a few weeks. I didn't know what to do with her. I didn't think I was going to have to find her a job or an apartment. I mean, she wasn't even real. I was uncomfortable with the idea of taking her out and I certainly didn't want to introduce my friends to her. I mean, I was okay with it, I told her I loved her, but people would just get the wrong idea. It became obvious that she was out of place here. She kept getting my magazines wet. I kept throwing towels down and she kept giving me these annoyed looks, from her puffy pupil-less blue eyes. I put her in the tub, to sleep. I started to get black mold everywhere and I got this bad cough.
She dried out. I let her. I'd go to work and come back and she was sitting by the radiator, steam rising off of her, just looking at the wall, this smell like boiling cabbage and turpentine coming off her. She wouldn't speak to me. After a couple days, she started flaking and once I asked her if she shouldn't get wet, but frankly, I was relieved. I wasn't ready, not even for a sponge.
I came home one day and she was lying on the floor, a bit smaller and completely still. I nudged her and she was so light. Her skin made this scraping sound when I touched it and dust motes rose off her and caught the sunlight coming through the window. I bunched her up and put her in a garbage bag. It was so weird. I took her down to the dumpster and put her in.
Sometimes I miss her. She knew all the words to every Patsy Cline song and did a mean Wanda Jackson. The first night, we drank a bunch of wine and she had me put those LP's on and she danced everywhere. I think she was happy to be full of water. She was a little seed that had popped. While she was twirling, her feet had squished in time and she flicked water everywhere, making these little blue specks all over the walls. That was the first thing that had upset me, but I have yet to wash them off.
