the profile

I went to a party this weekend where everyone was in profile. There wasn’t any hope of seeing people straight on or looking at anyone in the eye. Each woman knew which of her sides was best, and all the men were debating the weaknesses of the other sides. A few women dared to ask a man which side he preferred. Some said what the woman already thought. Others said both sides had merit. And still others said that the woman was sitting on her best feature. The men wore their profiles in their pockets, and they unpacked them item by item – education, income, status, wit. By the end of the party, everyone knew everyone from the side. As the party was winding down, I walked up to one profile and tried to turn her head to the front, but found her neck quite stiff. She said, ‘Oh, it’s been stuck that way for some years now.’ She tried to brush me away, but I put my hands on either side of her head and gave a swift wrench. With a great cracking sound, the woman’s neck gave way and I was faced with two dazzling eyes, as bare and painfully exposed as a child caught lying – and as relieved to be found out. But, it was short lived. My efforts had snapped the nerve cord and, after a few seconds, her eyes went dry and the shit came pouring out of her suddenly relaxed sphincter.