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A Thousand Ships

A Thousand Ships Becky Mandelbaum We are on our way to get pedicures when it happens. I’m not a pedicure kind of girl—even getting my teeth cleaned feels like undue pampering— but in gym class, Courtney P. announced to the whole locker room that my toes resemble American actor and director Steve Buscemi, and so here we are, my sister Elle and me, on our way to a salon called Best Foot Forward. We are walking quickly and Elle is going on and on about her boyfriend Julian—how his tongue is so long it can reach into his nostrils, how he prefers foreign movies with subtitles—when suddenly it is upon us, coating our skin, our mouths, our hair. It tastes like an orange after brushing your teeth. It is gaseous and glittery and as much as it burns, it tickles. Elle and I find ourselves giggling—a nervous, panicked giggling— thinking perhaps we are victims of some kind of gag. Perhaps a handsome television show host will pop out from behind the salon and shout: ‘‘You’re on America’s newest show—Gag Time!’’ or whatever it might be. Gag Time is just the first thing I thought of. Like Elle says, I’m the least creative http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Prairie Schooner University of Nebraska Press

A Thousand Ships

Prairie Schooner , Volume 93 (3) – Dec 21, 2019

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Publisher
University of Nebraska Press
Copyright
Copyright © University of Nebraska Press.
ISSN
1542-426X

Abstract

Becky Mandelbaum We are on our way to get pedicures when it happens. I’m not a pedicure kind of girl—even getting my teeth cleaned feels like undue pampering— but in gym class, Courtney P. announced to the whole locker room that my toes resemble American actor and director Steve Buscemi, and so here we are, my sister Elle and me, on our way to a salon called Best Foot Forward. We are walking quickly and Elle is going on and on about her boyfriend Julian—how his tongue is so long it can reach into his nostrils, how he prefers foreign movies with subtitles—when suddenly it is upon us, coating our skin, our mouths, our hair. It tastes like an orange after brushing your teeth. It is gaseous and glittery and as much as it burns, it tickles. Elle and I find ourselves giggling—a nervous, panicked giggling— thinking perhaps we are victims of some kind of gag. Perhaps a handsome television show host will pop out from behind the salon and shout: ‘‘You’re on America’s newest show—Gag Time!’’ or whatever it might be. Gag Time is just the first thing I thought of. Like Elle says, I’m the least creative

Journal

Prairie SchoonerUniversity of Nebraska Press

Published: Dec 21, 2019

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