There was a little girl with a
curl in the middle of her forehead.
And when she was good, she was very good.
But when she was bad,
she was horrid.
What makes one a
bad girl, such a naughty bad girl? Do you have to sleep with the
best man? Do you have to wear
vampy lipstick and walk with your chest puffed out and your back arched, in
stacked heels with your skirt pulled awkwardly to the side, hinting at impropriety (but almost threatening to seduce)? Or is it enough just to "accidentally" expose the soft flesh of the top your breast bending over?
For some of us being bad means neglecting to
floss every night, and taunting
gingivitis to
come get some. It means taking your birth control pill in the morning instead of at night because you didn't feel like getting out of bed to drink a glass of water with it. When did my age group become so
collectively boring? I'd like to blame it on my 401K and a bid to become more responsible, but since when does responsibility have to mean boring?
I sometimes want to be bad again. I could still pay my bills if I called out sick on a Friday and drove to Mexico to
drown in Margaritas for a weekend. Nobody would have to know if I drove to a seedy bar and got all kinds of free drinks for hitching up my skirt and
staring with black lidded eyes at the lecherous old men at the bar.
Being bad can feel so good, if you know when to stop and how far you can get before you know you're
in for it. The inevitable redefinition of bad has become so bland and tasteless that I have almost forgotten what it's like to be naughty, as opposed to just tired and irritated.
When she was bad, she used to cut her jeans off so short that she had to cut the pockets out too. When she was bad she used to grab ass at concerts and stick out her tongue. When she was bad, she was
fun.