I’d switch places with Punk! I’d write myself love notes, shower me with gifts, give me a sweet massage, sweep out the garage, take me out on a date— oh wait. That would be the same as me doing all those things for him, which is what we already do. Poo.
Freaky Friday: take two.
I’d trade places with Margaret Atwood. She’s one of those authors who makes my day, who makes me say: I want to write like that. If I could be her for a day, I’d search her desk, comb through all her notes, see how she works, how she thinks, how she gets her hair to look like that. Because mine is flat. And when we switch back, I’d search my desk, see if she left notes about how I work, how I think. And I’d anxiously await the next book she writes, to see if a frustrated wife with flat hair is there. But then, I know she will be. I’ve always seen me in her books. She’s already been in my head.
It was because of the chocolate bars. It was because of the stars. It was because of a life behind bars. It was her hormones. It was the radiation from the wires and phones…
It was the sleeping pills. It was the frills, on the blouse, under the jacket, over the breasts. It was the blood tests. It was the sigh, the cry, the hand on the thigh. It was the hunger, it was the rage, it was the spirit of the age.
—Margaret Atwood, Simple Murders
Whether he’s making her like it or making her dislike it
or making her pretend to like it is important,
but it’s not the most important thing.
The most important thing is making her…
Watch yourself. That’s what the mirrors are for,
this story is a mirror story which rhymes with horror story, almost but not quite.
We fall back into these rhythms as if into safe hands.
—Margaret Atwood, Iconography