Put the Blame on Mame

Barely puberty, when she heard the word

“Slut.” She was unsure of what it meant;

she heard daddy call mommy that, and

mommy call Aunt Marga that. Aunt Marga

never visited afterwards. She never

thought she’d hear that word again until

that day as she was pushed from the swings

by Stacey Macey and her friends (they call

themselves the new Disney Princesses).

Mommy taught her to be smart through words,

daddy gave her wisdom through absence.

She played with the neighbor boys, rough-

housing, cops and robbers, hide-and-seek

throughout her childhood, never imagining

that she was different from them. And yesterday

she and Travis were skipping hand-in-hand

as Stacey Macey as Cinderella watched. Now,

bruised from the fall and filthy from the mud,

she covered her face as Jasmine, Ariel, and

Aurora chanted that word again and

again, pebbles kicked into her face, her shirt

being torn by the rocks. It would’ve been

nice if this were the last time she’d hear that

word, but as she grew up, with Cindy and her

gang, that word was ironed into her, as she

was chased down the hall, cornered in the

lavatory, humiliated at prom. After high

school, she thought she’d seen the the last of them.

(Most of them ended up miserable housewives

to drunken strong arms.) She faced the world

the word still branded on her. She took off her

shirt and all men see is that word. She’d put it

back on and all women see is that word. Facing

the mirror, her face disappears replaced by that

four letters thrown at her back in grade school.

S. L. U. T. One day, a nice guy met and fell in

love with her. Out of desperation she married

him and had three kids. Everyday, her husband

would kiss her on the cheek and whisper how

beautiful she was. Everyday, her kids would

hug her and tell her how much they love her.

But every word, every kiss could still not fill

the darkness as that four-letter word haunted

her. One day, she met Stacey Macey, a broken-

down Cinderella, from riches-to-rags, working

the street in tattered fishnets and a chipped tooth.

Stacey Macey was bending over a car, propping up

her breasts. As the car drove by, ignoring her,

Stacey Macey looked up and saw the girl who, thirty

years ago, she pushed down from the swings and called

a slut. She said hi. She went home and gathered up

her kids. She kissed them one by one. When her

husband returned, she held him in her arms in the

most tender way she’d ever held him before.


This is the 100 Songs Project, a 100-day writing challenge based on AFI’s 100 Years…100 Songs. Every day, I write a short poem, prose piece, or play based on, reacting to, rejecting, accepting, or doing something related to one of the songs in the top 100 list.

Please consider liking Deelaytful on Facebook. We’re doing a promotion in preparation for the 200th post in a couple of weeks. If we get 500 likes before the 200th post, I will be uploading a video of myself singing a medley of Disney Princesses songs on YouTube.