I would be cooler if . . .
I didn't break out like a teenager; or, if breaking out like a teenager was considered, by indie rockers and arty geniuses and fashionistas, as the path to enlightenment.

I would be cooler if . . .
I wasn't wearing tube socks; or, if the tube socks I was wearing had stripes at the top--no!--Life Saver-colored stripes--no!--Life Saver stripes all the way down the sock and if the socks had toes.

I would be cooler if . . .
I wasn't wearing the exact same jacket as the girl sitting next to me on the el, which should come as no surprise since the jacket is from The Gap, the great American factory of formulaic fashion, and that's what I get for thinking that pulling a jacket off the sale rack, the jacket that was buried between a faux fur-collared blouse and a sleek black turtleneck, and hurriedly paying for it would ease the fact that really, deep down inside, I just want to be like everyone else; or, if I poured paint on my Gap jacket in the middle of the Loop while singing a song from "Mary Poppins" (probably "Spoon Full of Sugar"), and declared this society patriarchal and oppressive, then ripped up package after package of nude-toned nylons and declared myself a performance artist.

I would be cooler if . . .
I could figure out how to surreptitiously pick my nose in public; or, if nose picking was an Olympic sport so that whenever I did it, I could glare at people who clucked derisively at me and say, "I am training!"

I would be cooler if . . .
I could get my shit together; or, if everyone else would admit that they can't get their shit together, either.