Lydia was bored. Bored bored bored.
A brief list of the things that bored Lydia: Everything.
She was bored by her looks- her skin so pale she glowed in the dark, her hair so black it sucked in light, her naturally red lips which were always curled into a sneer because everything was boring, her breasts which bounced like two grapefruits in a stocking, her long, meaty legs which led to a backside like a small, halved, gravity-free planet in a hammock. Everybody else seemed so excited by how she looked; she had to assume they were all dull. Dull dull dull.
She was bored by all the attention her looks earned her.
Her classmates at school, who offered her gifts of their lunches and rides on their scooters, bored her.
Her teachers, who gave her good grades without her having to do any work, bored her. She would turn in a blank test, and the test would be returned with a note written in red pen. The note would say, “A++ because you’re amazing, awesome and built like an Amazonian. Would you marry me? Please? It doesn’t have to be forever, maybe just for a night, while my real wife’s at her book club meeting.”
She was bored by the mailman, who would give her other people’s mail. Bored by the butcher, who would buy her pastries; bored by the baker, who would buy her meats. Super bored by every cashier at every grocery, corner and convenience store, who refused to charge her. “Just take whatever you want,” they’d all say. “And would you marry us? Please? Even if it’s just for a night?”
When she passed married couples on the sidewalk, the men would grab their wives’ hands and strip them of their wedding rings, which they’d present to Lydia with additional gifts of cash. They’d cry, “Marry us! Marry us Lydia!” and Lydia would turn up her nose and ignore them. They were all so boring. The men, dejected, would return to their wives, who would beat them with fists and purses.
The big, elegant ivy-covered house she and her parents lived in, in Mission Hills, which was a neighborhood full of big and elegant houses, also bored her. Mission Hills bored her as well.
She was bored by her parents, her mousy mom and thick-chested dad, who bought her whatever she wanted and always seemed a little afraid of her.
“I’m so bored,” she’d say, and her father would put down his newspaper and say, “well, what can I buy you?”
“Oh, nothing” Lydia would sigh. “Anything you could buy me is boring. Everything’s boring and everything sucks.”
The time came Lydia’s parents wanted her to marry.
“It’s time to find a husband, dear,” Lydia’s mother said.
“Who?” Lydia asked. “Who should I marry? Everyone’s so boring.”
“How about all that nice teacher who gave you As all the time?” Her father suggested.
“Which one? They’re all so boring. Plus they’re all fat, old, wrinkly and gross.”
“How about that nice mailman who gave you other people’s unemployment, pension and student loan checks?” Her mother asked.
“Oh my god, him?” Lydia said. “He smiles like a pervert, it really creeps me out. And he’s dull, dull, dull.”
“How about the butcher or the baker, then?” Her father asked. “Or any of the cashiers at every grocery, corner and convenience store?”
“Booor-ing,” Lydia said. “Oh God! What will I do? I’m so bored.”
One night the boredom overwhelmed Lydia. It wrapped around her like a boa constrictor and squeezed, cutting off all of her air. Lydia ran out of her house and looked up to the sky in despair. She said, “Certainly there must be someone or something out there not boring. What can it be?”
It was then that she noticed, really noticed for the first time, all the stars in the sky. It was then that she saw the North Star and constellations such as the Big Dipper and Orion. They were so distant, mysterious and shiny, the way they glowed and twinkled in the inky navy-blue sky, that Lydia couldn’t take her eyes off of them. So taken with the stars, was she, that she decided she was going to marry one, the biggest, shiniest, most twinkling star there was in the universe.
Her first lucky break came a few nights later, when a falling star hit the woods outside of her neighborhood. It caused the ground to shake. People came from all over to see this fallen star, which was now but a small rock in a crater.
That didn’t matter to Lydia. She went through the crowd, which parted for her as if a second comet streaked through, and grabbed a glimpse. It was just a remnant of what it used to be, but still, she decided, it was beautiful.
She took the fallen star home, where it became her first true love. The rock was equally taken by Lydia. So enamored was the rock with Lydia that it had started to heat up and glow again. It had even begun to hover and float about her room. The star had decided it was going to marry her.
However, it was all a little too little and a little too late for Lydia, who had already grown bored with it.
“I can’t marry you,” said Lydia. “You’re not even a real star anymore. Look at you, you’re just a rock. You fell out of the sky because the sky didn’t want you anymore. I’m sorry, but I have bigger things in mind.”
“But Lydia,” the star protested. “As you can see I’m up and glowing again. I’ll be a star again in no time, just wait and see.”
“There are any number of pebbles out there who might be impressed,” Lydia yawned. “I’m just not feeling it for you anymore.”
So broken-hearted was the fallen star that it crumbled and turned to ash. Lydia simply brushed the ash into her palm and blew it out of her window.
Lydia then had rocket scientists build her a rocket, one that would take her to the heavens so she could pursue her dream star. The rocket scientists did this without payment, because they had little in the way of social skills and women like Lydia didn’t enter their lab very often. In fact, so few women entered their lives that they all proposed marriage to Lydia. Lydia just laughed and said, “I can think of few things as boring as all that,” and the scientists cried but continued building her rocket, which they stocked and supplied with gourmet chocolates, wine, jewelry and a couple of adorable kittens.
Lydia flew into space, where she met the North Star, who was a very big and important star indeed, and was equally smitten with the Lydia. The North Star would shine on Lydia, and would tip the Big Dipper, which was filled with delicious Star Soup, into her mouth.
One night, The North Star said, “Lydia, I’m so enamored, I’m more on fire than usual. Will you marry me and make me the happiest star in the universe? Hell, the Omniverse?”
However, Lydia had already grown bored with the North Star.
“I could never marry you,” she said. “You’re really just another pin-speck of light among so many. I’m sorry, but I have much bigger things in mind.”
“But Lydia,” the North Star said, “look at how bright I shine, and look at my place in the universe. I guide travelers and I hold up the Big Dipper. Out of which, I might remind you, you’ve drunken your share of.”
Lydia simply yawned and said, “Yeah, but I can’t help not caring. Be well.”
But the North Star wasn’t well. Brokenhearted, the North Star simply grew dim, and faded away, leaving every traveler lost and stranded.
Lydia then met the biggest, brightest, most important star she could find. Lydia met The Sun
The Sun adored Lydia, and lit upon her and kept her warm. The Sun decided that yes, it would marry the girl.
However, Lydia’s eyes again started to wander. The Sun was just the sun of this one solar system, which to her had grown into a very dull solar system indeed. In fact, the whole Milky Way galaxy was becoming a huge bore, and she started thinking about galaxies outside of it. She looked through her telescope, and saw another sun surrounded by another solar system in a galaxy millions of light years away from the Milky Way. It was a beautiful sun, so bright and hot and gaseous, she simply had to go out and reach it.
The Sun, having gotten the telescope bills, told Lydia she had some explaining to do. When Lydia told him she wanted to leave, it blinded her.
Lydia said, “Even blind I can feel the heat of distant suns, suns bigger, hotter and more explosive than you.”
The Sun, furious and heartbroken, incinerated Lydia. It then grew into a bloated red giant, then imploded and became a black hole, which swallowed up the whole solar system and a sizeable chunk of the Milky Way.
And that’s why we’re all dead.
Thanks a lot, Lydia.
