If I Were Cool

If I were cool, I'd own a Vespa scooter. It would be a beautiful seafoam green with chrome accents. I'd have a matching helmet. I'd also have a little sidecar, and my bulldog would ride in the sidecar as we tooled around town. I'd wear a scarf and the bulldog would wear a red t-shirt, and everyone who saw us would know we were cool.
I'd listen to all the coolest music, and it wouldn't necessarily be the newest music. In between the latest cool tunes, I'd throw in some jazz, or a little bossa nova. The transitions would be casual and natural between the songs, and friends would want me to make mix CDs for them. I'd do it and even draw cool pictures on the CD covers. These CDs would be treasured by my friends for their creativity and the reactions that occur when they're listened to. "Where'd you get such great music?" people would ask. My friends would say "Oh, just from a friend....isn't it cool?"
I'd have three or four restaurants where I'm a regular. I walk in and I'd be greeted by the owner and several other regulars. We only see each other at the restaurants, but we know about each other's vacations, our recent material acquisitions, and we discuss independent films and art exhibits. But I'd not be a film or art snob; I'd know just enough to have a basic understanding, and to appreciate it, but I'd never make anyone feel uncomfortable because they didn't know as much as me. My restaurant regulars teach me new things about art, and I encourage them to see the movie I saw that previous weekend. We share these thoughts, toast our drinks, and slip away likes cool ships in the night, satisfied with food and conversation.
I'd wear simple clothes cut well for my figure, but without ostentatious labels. The fabrics would be soft and rich, but the simplicity belies their quality. I'm too cool to pay full price, however, and I know where to get my togs for cheap. My friends beg to come shopping with me, and I gladly go. We'd hit the stores on my Vespa, with Loafy the dog slobbering in the sidecar. He guards the Vespa while we browse.
I make my own coffee each morning and a simple, cool breakfast. I pack my lunch every day and its the envy of the office lunch room. I explain that homemade hummus is ridiculously simple and cheap to make. For dinner I either entertain with friends, or I take myself out to eat. Eating alone in a nice restaurant doesn't bother me, because when you're as cool as me, sometimes the best company is your own. I smile at strangers and coo at children, but mostly keep to myself and enjoy my own cool silence.
At a reasonable our I'd go to sleep, except on weekends. I go to the coolest clubs, bars, and events, but I'm not averse to kicking back with a few beers and movies with friends. Not every night requires non-stop action; cool doesn't have to try so hard. After laughing, free-flowing conversation and easy smiles, I slip off to dreams where I'm this awkward, fumbling, mistake-making girl with dark roots and blonde hair, with patchy skin and dirty feet, scrubbing her apartment floor on her hands and knees, wondering about a world where she would be undeniably cool.