Not My Problem

by Ciara Smyth

I have these two daydreams. One is catching my enemies in a moment when I have the upper hand and they’re embarrassed and I get to act cool and aloof. The other is doing something amazing with my life and coming back to a school reunion and rubbing it in everyone’s faces. I’d invent an app that everyone uses and I’d rock up to the reunion and people would be using it and they’d be like, Oh, Aideen, nice to see you after ten years. Are you on Flubberygiblets? and I’d shrug like I didn’t even care. I invented Flubberygiblets, I’d say. Everyone would think I was class and then I’d be like, Have you met my wife, Kristen Stewart? We’re flying on a private jet to Maui tonight to have lots of sex and lip biting. Fuckity bye, arseholes.

“All right, come on, then. We find the hole, we fill it up.” “Yeo,” I said. “Fill the hole in your knowledge, you degenerate.” “With the fingers of information?”

“I like your hair,” I said, and I privately congratulated myself on being smooth with the ladies. I like your hair. That was going to go down in history as one of the great lines.