Spray It Away

I consider myself so lucky to have found a guy in my life that isn’t a product of the modern world but instead treats others with courtesy and treats me like a lady, actually, his princess. Honestly, some days I just stop and wonder about the human race- that day was today- and the topic was men; men at Rose Hall, to be exact. Sure, I gave some of them a good bashing on the previous blog about the odor of their floors and how is could be the next formula to be canned and used to bring the dead back to life with its airborne power, but this is just my own evaluation and attempt to understand and find the answer to the question: Why?

Whoever the culprit is, I hope they read this, because maybe they will open their testosterone-filled eyes and realize that their body is not a piece of beautiful graffiti.

At the ever exciting floor meeting last night, the topic of “male graffiti” was brought up and discussed. Apparently an anonymous male artist from the hall decided to make his mark on several doors and dry erase boards. His medium? Permanent marker. His subject? His own genitals. What possess a human being to post their unwant-to-be-seen-by-strangers-ables is beyond me. I’m sure the last time I checked, they made individual bathrooms for people to use for the sight of other people’s business wasn’t theirs. And Adam and Eve even felt shame when they realized they were naked and in response they decided to make some fig leaves some kind of primitive Tommy Hilfiger. I wonder if they called it Tommy Leafsticker back then…but that is another blog.

Come on now, you don’t see females drawing weirdo body parts publicly on doors and windows. We draw flowers and bunnies, and an occasional smiling face on a dry-erase board to make someone’s day. I’m sure if you walked into your room nude as your roommate sits unexpectedly at their chair it would be far from making their day. It would most likely make you far from talking to them for the rest of the year.

We are all adults now so it’s not eight grade health where your classmates turn the pages to the reproduction chapter of the book and giggle. We know what’s there, and we don’t care to see it on our doors.

Worse part is that the drawing wasn’t good at all. Not Edinboro art student work by a long shot.

Yet no one can underestimate the power of the Martha Stewart way of thinking (aside from the insider trading issues). With a squeeze of the hair spray nozzle, I proudly wiped away the garbage from the room on the other side of the building. Take that, Mr. Artist. Now go get some real classes and draw something worth while. As for me, I’m going to daydream about the guy who doesn’t draw poor art but creates art in my heart- love.