“Soul Mates” by Whitney Collins

187 Replies

Hey
You
You 60-something, balding, fat guy in the brand-new BMW
Who
Earlier today
Flailed his arms and yelled at my kids
To hurry up and get in the minivan

You realize that by doing that
You basically just announced that you pay for sex

Believe me
I understand that children can be excruciatingly slow

Like when they’re
IN THE BIRTH CANAL

Or like when you have an urgent Cialis prescription to pick up

And I’m sure after all these years
Of waiting for them to invent a vehicle with air conditioned head rests
That nothing frustrates you more than a 2-year-old trying to climb into his car seat

Except maybe your own mother’s funeral

So I sympathize, Chapstick-dick
And I understand that your anger probably comes from a very real place

Like when your special order Beemer arrived
And it was supposed to be Pearlized Gazelle
But it came in Metallic Nutsack

Or like when you ordered that steak rare
And it arrived more like rare-ish

I GET IT

I get that you need to let it out
By yelling at other people’s toddlers
Or by going to the pound
And pressing your face against the bars of the cat cages
And screaming
“FUCK YOU, KITTENS!!! FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING FUCKS!!”

You and me
We are simpatico like that

So after you have your four-hour erection at the car wash
And go home to have a cocktail
Take comfort in the fact
That, I too, am also drinking
And, I too, am saying the same prayer you are
Which is

God help that sad, sad idiot I encountered in the parking lot today
And thank you
Thank you, God
For making me a much much better person than them

-Whitney Collins

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