Screw Society, Let's Become Hippies

“My parents want me to be a heart surgeon.”

“Okay?”

“No.  Not okay.  I do not want to be a heart surgeon.”

“So don’t.”

“I’m not.”

“Good.”

“Mmm.”

“...where is this going?”

“My parents also want me to get confirmed to the church when I’m old enough.”

“But you’re atheist.”

“No, I’m not.  I believe in God and Jesus and Mary and all that.  I just resent everything else the Catholic church teaches.”

“Agnostic?”

“No.  I know what I believe in.”

“So what are you?”

“My religion doesn’t have a label, because my religion is hating mass organized religion.”

“Oh, of course.  You know, I worship the cacao bean.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“No.  Just women.  Men are too stupid to appreciate its divine blessedness.”

“Ah.  Does the cacao bean give underlying hints during mass that women are inferior to men by default?”

“...you’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Of course.”

“I’m also assuming the cacao bean doesn’t imply that its every human’s purpose in life to grow up, get married, and populate the world.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“No...I had a turn of mind around ten years of age.”

“You’re going to get married.  You’re just that kind of person.  You don’t do well alone.”

“Says fucking who?  Marriage is the last thing I want for my future.”

“Good Catholic girls don’t use naughty language.”

“Another reason I want no part in it.”

“My mom says people are happier in couples.  It’s just in our nature.”

“...and look how well her marriage turned out.”

“Hmm.  I see your point.”

“I mean, look at the statistics.  There’s my parents, who use me as a buffer to talk trash about the other whenever we’re alone.  There’s your parents, who divorced when you were three, and still refuse to talk to each other after eleven years.  Then there’s your mom and Dave, who have been ‘engaged’ for three years, and regularly leave and go stay at a hotel for days a time to get away from the other.  Then there’s Claire’s parents, who, surprise surprise, are divorced, and don’t talk to each other.  Then there’s Ellen’s, who got divorced.  Then her dad left the country, and still refuses to pay child support.  Lastly there’s Sarah’s parents, who combined are like Shari Lewis and Mr. Rogers.”

“At least they’re not divorced and most likely love each other.”

“Have you ever seen them interact romantically?”

“No.”

“Right.  ‘Hey dear, how was your day?’ ‘It was swell!’ ‘Aren’t you just so proud of our children?’ ‘I sure am.’  Hell no.  I.  Do.  Not.  Want.  That.”

“I would think your marriage would be different, since you’re obviously different from your parents.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought at first.  But you know what?  My mom, your mom, and everyone else’s moms probably thought their marriage was going to be special, too, before they actually got married.”

“So you’re saying you want to be alone your whole life?”

“Of course not.  I’m going to find a wonderful boyfriend and he’s going to move in with me.  I just don’t want to marry him.”

“It does seem to be the downfall of every relationship.”

“Exactly.  But my parents don’t seem to realize this, even though you think it’d be kind of obvious to them.  They still want me to grow up, become a good, Christ loving, normal woman, get married, and have babies.”

“Hey, you’re lucky.  My parents want me to become a CPA.”

“...wow.”

“Yeah.”

“I feel so humbled.”

“You should.  An accountant.  I’m so sure.  Not that there’s anything wrong with sitting behind a desk and typing all day, but when have I shown any interest in it?”

“Oh, silly, don’t you know?  You’re not supposed to spend your life doing what you want to do, you’re supposed to spend your life doing what pays well.”

“Eh.  A heart surgeon doesn’t sound so bad.  At least you’d be helping people.”

“Needles scare me.”

“Yeah...I noticed.”

“I don’t get this whole, get a respectable job thing.  Why would I spend my life doing something I don’t like?”

“So you can get a big house?  Why are you asking me; I’m not old.  Besides, I plan on becoming a musician.  And you know how well that’s going to go.  One way or another, I’m most likely going to end up as a hobo.”

“I want to be a freelance writer.  Apparently, there's no money in this.  We can be hobos together.”

“Awesome.”

“I know.”

“Can we live in a box?”

“Yeah.  And we can cut little holes in the side for windows, and use old rags for curtains.  It’ll be just like that clubhouse we had in your basement.”

“Before Dave threw it away.”

“Yeah.  The sick, twisted bastard.”

“God, I know.”

“Screw hoboism.  Let’s become hippies.”

“Fucking awesome.”