I don't get why you always have to choose a favorite. Pink or purple. Blondes or Brunettes. Jazz or rock Mets or Yankees. I don't understand why you can't appreciate two colors, or flavors, or paintings, or styles of music, or shoes and not prefer one to the other.
And I really can't see why everyone is so concerned about which "team" you're on. Who says I'm even on a fucking team? I don't even remember ever signing up for a team. Did I have to try out? Or did I just sign up and they let me play like when my parents made me play soccer when I was five? I didn't want to play soccer!
I don't get why people are so worried about lables. I don't know if I'm straight or if I'm a lesbian. I don't think I'm either. I mean, I never played softball and faked my period to get out of gym class... I also refused to go to prom and can't remember ever sitting up with a girl and painting our toe nails...
Why do people care whether I like men or women? I mean, really. Who. cares? I sure as hell don't. It's like ice cream. Everyone likes ice cream. I don't see why you have to decide whether you like chocolate or vanilla better. Sometimes I want chocolate. Other times I feel like vanilla. Sometimes I get cravings for mint chocolate chip, or strawberry, or cookie dough. Sometimes I skip the ice cream and decide I want cake instead.
Maybe it isn't so much that I don't have a favorite. Sometimes I think I can't just make up my mind. Do I even have to? Maybe tomorrow morning I will wake up with some great desire to sleep with a woman. Maybe the next day I'll decide I prefer men. Who can even know?
"Maureen!" The sound of a voice shocks me from my thoughts. It's Mark, standing in the kitchen, looking at me. I don't respond at first, only blink. "Maureen?"
"Yes?"
"Did you want chocolate or vanilla?" points to two cartons of ice cream sitting on the kitchen counter. It had to be the warmest day of the year, and it was melting onto the ground.
"Umm." Choices. Decisions. Did I want one or the other? Door A or Door B? Which held the shiny new sports car? Did they both? "Can I have both?"
He smiles, "Sure thing," he says as he spoons some soupy vanilla ice cream into a bowl and added some melting chocolate to it. He hands it to me, and a spoon. I bring a spoonful to my mouth and the flavors mixed together on my tongue.
Sometimes the best choice is to not make a choice.