A Dream Deferred

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

* Langston Hughes

I too, wonder what happens to a dream deferred. I'm one of those people who truly believe that dreams are hopes and desires from our subconscious rising to the surface at night. Last night, I had the strangest dream. It was the day of my wedding and I decided to cancel it. Children came to the door and asked if Miss Williamson was still getting married today. My parents told them no, but instead of a wedding how about a trip to Chunky Cheese? Everyone seemed pretty relieved and I was one of the first to hop into the car and leave for the restaurant.

Runaway bride? How could I? The girl who would plan weddings just for the kick of it pro bono has a pair of Nike swishes under her garter? I don't think my dream meant that I don't want to get married. I think something deep inside of me is just saying "Hey, this whole wedding thing can wait, how about some fun instead?" A conditioned response from a society that is hooked on that free love sauce and can't seem to shake the habit- cows not only give milk for free, men don't even have to bring a bucket to get their fill.

Will I get married someday? I don't know and I believe I no longer care as much as I did in the past. Why? The Modern Man of course. The modern man that I am presented today as a husband is lacking everything a man of honor should have in his character tool box. I lament the days of old where men understood how precious a woman's honor was and how they aspired to "have it all" in the form of a three bedroom house with a wife and kids. Modern man is never satisfied with his life, he must have it all at all times no matter how vomit worthy a 40-year old man looks with a 18 year old fetus walking the strip. Its as if all the men of this world woke up one day and decided that aging gracefully and accepting the various stages of life was a repudiation of everything that is good and wholesome about humanity.

Who can we blame? The women of the feminist movement who thought they could fuck like men, live like men, and wake up one day in their own three bedroom house with kids. Magic. Let's just skip the whole no means no and attempt to run with the big dogs at their own sexist game. Little did they know that their freedom to fuck men has fucked many traditional women like myself who wish to keep their honor intact until they can wear a white gown without the guests at the wedding blushing.

Modern man has fucked today's woman because today's woman listened to yesterday's feminist about the virtues of the unlimited fuck. The unlimited fuck has caused me to wake up in a cold sweat when I dream about the children that will have to wait until I am done visiting Chunky Cheese. A woman in her mid-twenties going to Chunky Cheese when she should be figuring out which color the bridesmaids look the worst in. But alas, I like my brother Langston Hughes will chalk this dream up as deferred... until it explodes like a Raisin in the Sun.

Dreaming an Impossible Dream,

P. Manolos