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I knew it. I knew it! Today's Boy Meets World rerun featured - take a deep breath, now - yes! Both Cory and Shawn in drag!
And oh, was Shawn a beautiful girl.
But the very best part was how very, very, obviously attracted Cory was to girlShawn. It's so obvious he can't admit his true feelings for Shawn because he's in denial of his sexuality, but seeing Shawn as a girl allowed him to express those feelings freely. And ogle. A lot.
Slashy show. Seriously, seriously, seriously slashy show. It's just beautiful. It's so beautiful I am not embarrassed to be watching a show that airs reruns on the Disney channel.
Really.
-----
All of the wildflowers are in full bloom - the black-eyed susans, the queen anne's lace, the wild daisies, the lavender, the orange lilies, and at least half a dozen others I don't know the names of. At the end of my walk I picked two black-eyed susans, and they rest now in a vase on my desk.
Partial as I am to daisies, to all white flowers, black-eyed susans have always been my favorite wildflower, I think because I liked the name. When I first learned what they were called my best friend was a girl named Susan, and she had dark eyes. Her hair, though, was not yellow-orange, but black.
I met Susan the summer after fifth grade, through a girl named Laura who lived on my road. Susan lived on my road, too, less than a mile away, but we went to different elementary schools and my family wasn't much for meeting neighbors, so I didn't know her, until Laura knocked on my door one day and introduced herself. Soon after, I met Susan.
Neither of us stayed friends with Laura for long; she was selfish and spoiled and generally an unpleasant person to be around. I didn't see Susan again until the end of sixth grade, when I got a call from my friend Morgan, who was in Susan's class but who I knew through the once-a-week gifted class we were both in. She was at Susan's house, and the two of them came over. Susan and I were inseparable after that, all through junior high.
I remember, that day in sixth grade, Susan was wearing her father's quilted plaid flannel jacket, the same kind my own father had and I wore when I went walking in the woods on cold days. Susan was beautiful, naturally beautiful, with the prettiest hair I'd ever seen, the hair I'd always wanted - thick and dark and long and gleaming, like polished wood. But she seemed completely unaware of how gorgeous she was, then.
We rode our bikes together all over those back roads, ran through the woods behind both our houses in all seasons, put on knee-high rubber boots and went wading in the swamp when spring came and the snow melted. We climbed trees. We caught frogs from the neighbor's pond and gave them to her brothers. It was all terribly rural and country and cliche, but I had grown used to doing all of those things on my own, and I was overjoyed to finally have a friend to do them with me.
In eighth grade, things began to change. Susan got a boyfriend, and all of our conversations inevitably shifted to their dramatic, junior high affair, or a discussion of one of the many boys she thought were "cute". She always wanted to go to the mall, or to school dances, things she'd never wanted to do before. Sometimes I'd listen to the way she talked around guys, her voice breathless, higher-pitched, punctuated with giggling, and I wouldn't recognize her. Everyone else began to notice how beautiful Susan was, and they all began to tell her, and it wasn't long before she noticed too, and believed. And I can't pinpoint a specific event, anything in particular, that ended our friendship, but a year later, we weren't talking. It was nothing bitter, nothing planned, it was just - over.
Three years later, Susan was in my AP biology class. It was a small class, and a boring one, and a few times we talked, and every time we did it made me sad. Because I couldn't find a trace of the girl I'd known in the girl I was talking to; the Susan who'd run wild with me in the woods and worn her father's hunting jacket everywhere she went was nowhere to be seen. And even though I had other friends by then, friends who would prove to last through change and separation - I missed Susan. Not the Susan that she'd become, but the Susan that she'd been.
I wonder about her, sometimes, when I drive past her house and see her dogs in the driveway, the dogs I'd played with so many times, all those years ago. I don't even know where she went to college, what she wants to be, if she wants to be anything at all. I try to remember if she ever said when we were friends, what she wanted, and I can't. Mostly, I wonder if she's happy.
But I don't miss her, anymore.
And oh, was Shawn a beautiful girl.
But the very best part was how very, very, obviously attracted Cory was to girlShawn. It's so obvious he can't admit his true feelings for Shawn because he's in denial of his sexuality, but seeing Shawn as a girl allowed him to express those feelings freely. And ogle. A lot.
Slashy show. Seriously, seriously, seriously slashy show. It's just beautiful. It's so beautiful I am not embarrassed to be watching a show that airs reruns on the Disney channel.
Really.
-----
All of the wildflowers are in full bloom - the black-eyed susans, the queen anne's lace, the wild daisies, the lavender, the orange lilies, and at least half a dozen others I don't know the names of. At the end of my walk I picked two black-eyed susans, and they rest now in a vase on my desk.
Partial as I am to daisies, to all white flowers, black-eyed susans have always been my favorite wildflower, I think because I liked the name. When I first learned what they were called my best friend was a girl named Susan, and she had dark eyes. Her hair, though, was not yellow-orange, but black.
I met Susan the summer after fifth grade, through a girl named Laura who lived on my road. Susan lived on my road, too, less than a mile away, but we went to different elementary schools and my family wasn't much for meeting neighbors, so I didn't know her, until Laura knocked on my door one day and introduced herself. Soon after, I met Susan.
Neither of us stayed friends with Laura for long; she was selfish and spoiled and generally an unpleasant person to be around. I didn't see Susan again until the end of sixth grade, when I got a call from my friend Morgan, who was in Susan's class but who I knew through the once-a-week gifted class we were both in. She was at Susan's house, and the two of them came over. Susan and I were inseparable after that, all through junior high.
I remember, that day in sixth grade, Susan was wearing her father's quilted plaid flannel jacket, the same kind my own father had and I wore when I went walking in the woods on cold days. Susan was beautiful, naturally beautiful, with the prettiest hair I'd ever seen, the hair I'd always wanted - thick and dark and long and gleaming, like polished wood. But she seemed completely unaware of how gorgeous she was, then.
We rode our bikes together all over those back roads, ran through the woods behind both our houses in all seasons, put on knee-high rubber boots and went wading in the swamp when spring came and the snow melted. We climbed trees. We caught frogs from the neighbor's pond and gave them to her brothers. It was all terribly rural and country and cliche, but I had grown used to doing all of those things on my own, and I was overjoyed to finally have a friend to do them with me.
In eighth grade, things began to change. Susan got a boyfriend, and all of our conversations inevitably shifted to their dramatic, junior high affair, or a discussion of one of the many boys she thought were "cute". She always wanted to go to the mall, or to school dances, things she'd never wanted to do before. Sometimes I'd listen to the way she talked around guys, her voice breathless, higher-pitched, punctuated with giggling, and I wouldn't recognize her. Everyone else began to notice how beautiful Susan was, and they all began to tell her, and it wasn't long before she noticed too, and believed. And I can't pinpoint a specific event, anything in particular, that ended our friendship, but a year later, we weren't talking. It was nothing bitter, nothing planned, it was just - over.
Three years later, Susan was in my AP biology class. It was a small class, and a boring one, and a few times we talked, and every time we did it made me sad. Because I couldn't find a trace of the girl I'd known in the girl I was talking to; the Susan who'd run wild with me in the woods and worn her father's hunting jacket everywhere she went was nowhere to be seen. And even though I had other friends by then, friends who would prove to last through change and separation - I missed Susan. Not the Susan that she'd become, but the Susan that she'd been.
I wonder about her, sometimes, when I drive past her house and see her dogs in the driveway, the dogs I'd played with so many times, all those years ago. I don't even know where she went to college, what she wants to be, if she wants to be anything at all. I try to remember if she ever said when we were friends, what she wanted, and I can't. Mostly, I wonder if she's happy.
But I don't miss her, anymore.