tainted love

I'm kind of feverish and tired, so this might not even be coherent but I just had to jot down the memory of this weird couple on the subway. The girl was maybe, fourteen. That is the exact estimate of her age that I would make. She was just, so incredibly fourteen. I can't even picture her any other age and I will not accept any other suggestions because I have never seen anyone more fourteen in my life. She was wearing pink lip gloss and mascara but no other make-up (rookie mistake: see "she's fourteen" above) and a bright blue toggle coat. She had her semi-oily hair pulled back halfway, and it was not only down to her ass but had those weird blond streaks that everyone experiments with when they're a young teenager and ultimately realizes that they look ridiculous. And she still had this chubby baby face and freckles. Freckles. Adorable baby freckles on her pinchable little baby cheeks.
Okay strap in cause here comes the weird part: the guy she was with was at least twenty-five. I'm trying to be as fair as I can, factoring in early blooming facial hair and maybe he was sick with a cold that accidentally gave his voice a mature masculine timbre when he usually sounds like Willow Smith or a young Japanese girl? But no. Those are dark, slim-fit jeans and a chic brown leather jacket, sir. That mountain-man stubble was earned through years of shaving and the hope of a young boy that his mother was right, it does grow in thicker when you clean yourself up a little for grandma's house. That rakish hair-cut is not the awkward bowl-shaped-- oh God, he's toying with the toggles on her little baby coat. Now he's grabbing her butt as she pretends to be scared of the noise on the train and hides her face in his shoulder and he kisses her forehead. Really, baby girl? You're scared of traffic noise? Maybe New York City isn't the place for your delicate lady-like ears. I wouldn't want them to wilt like your youth in front of all the creeped-out passengers on the downtown 2 train this evening.
While I'm on the subject, that is further proof that she is exactly fourteen years old: she has no idea how to behave herself. I just want to shout at her. YOU LOOK LIKE A FUCKING IDIOT. Additionally, she talks like a goddamn baby. But not in that Sarah Silverman I'm-clearly-a-grown-woman-speaking-like-a-toddler voice, which in itself is annoying enough--but at least it involves a modicum of self-awareness. This girl is telling a meandering story about how she's just like so too super mature for her school and teachers and family, but she's like the rockstar of all of her super cool friends who she is so comfortable and casual with, they're like family, and like, and like, and like, and like, oh my God (Pro tip: if you have to announce how mature you are, you're probably not.)--and she's telling it without a trace of parody, without posing, and without the subtle desperation of the lost women who generally "up-speak"to appear more attractive (even when they're quite physically beautiful already).
And I wasn't the only one on the subway who was so uncomfortable: all around me I saw passengers staring at this couple and doing mental arithmetic or searching in their phones for the number for child services. But honestly, is the math really all that important? Let's ponder for a moment the possibility that the girl is just an extremely young-looking, young-sounding, apparently young-thinking woman. Is it any better for this adult man, who by all indications had a sage and temperate personality (I realize I was just eavesdropping on one brief conversation in a subway), to be interested in a woman who hasn't matured enough to tell a decent story that didn't make me feel like I was listening to my baby cousin during his Pokemon phase? It read like an older brother listening to his baby sister talk about her big day at school.
BLAM-O. Infantilization of women, bitches. It's bad for everybody. Connect the dots yourself, I am fucking tired. Sara OUT.