Little Red Ridding Hood was a tale meant to keep suburban wolves away from children. Ironically, now that you left childhood behind: this is precisely the tale you’ll need the most.
It’s Sunday morning and you have another boring date with university dullness. The gloomy cafeteria filled with bourgeois reminders: people wearing sneakers and colour pantone extraordinaire popped onto everyone’s cotton knitwear. While you enter that place a row of straight guys immediately burns you with an array of dumb expressions: yes, welcome the non-normative human male wearing a Balenciaga cocoon jacket, hence: unsettling the universal criteria of straight plane understanding into monkey riot. This was Monday morning. Imagine what happens by the end of the week when everyone is tired of social awareness and educated politeness.
Minding that, it should never come as a surprise if Little Red Ridding Hood escapes the school cafeteria to be on a date with the Big Bad Wolf. Tricky but true.
Charles Perrault used to say that for all wolves are not of the same sort; there is one kind with an amenable disposition — neither noisy, nor hateful, but obliging and gentle, following the young maids in the streets. Had he written this line yesterday, it would still be daily news:
– My, what big teeth you have! The better to eat you with.
Now it’s too late. That tardy night small talk sponsored by charming masculine smiles and witty comments was just enough to get you in his bed by 4am. You can’t turn it back. There’s Chopin playing on an empty living room with scarce candle light burning to reveal walls stocked with books under the scent of apple crumble. That’s what’s left from supper. He’ll eat your heart and soul. Then he’ll ditch you.
Little Red Ridding Hood heartbreak will always be a collateral damage to Big Bed Wolfe’s amusement park. Be sure to read the flames in that smoke. Beyond those strawberry cupcakes he fed you while you seated your naive ass on his billion dollar marble countertop there’s hardly any felling: truth is when morning comes, the dream will fade and so will you. Big Bed Wolf has a fabulous daytime to carry on and you’re not a part of it. Still, you’ll spend the whole week eagerly waiting for a Friday night invitation to pop up into your cell phone. It never will.
That mellow routine had to be broken. Even a turtle would be seen running from a place so boring like public university. There are rain clouds every Monday morning and you can´t help it: but please don’t put yourself into the heart of Katrina just because there’s a raindrop at your window. It’s a tale too old to be forgotten: Little Red Ridding Hood was a story meant to keep those andropause perverts away from naive young hipsters. Open a flower shop, do your own laundry, bake something from scratch or write anonymous hate mail: but be sure never to forget that setting a date with Big Bad Wolf is not a routine breaker, it’s a heartbreaker to your crystal heart.
