The 2D Adventures of Stick Woman

JADE RIORDAN

The stickman side of me likes old-school emoticons and two-dimensional storylines.

She has no ankles, knees, wrists, or elbows; i.e., fewer worries about arthritis or sprains, but isn’t particularly flexible.

She also lacks opposable thumbs, so turning a key is difficult. However, she’s exceptionally gifted at bivariate statistics, comparing apples to oranges, and giving the peace sign gesture.

My inner stickman can’t tell the difference between mountains, triangles, and her dress.

She curls her hair with exactly two rollers and can replace an eye with a period if necessary. Furthermore, she never learned how to tie her nonexistent sneakers, or any bow for that matter.

Incidentally, my stickman heart is the Valentine’s Day kind, no septum or valves here.

This leaves plenty of space inside for linear equations and jokes that fall flat. PS Her favourite whole number is <3 (and >1).

My stickman soul considers houses, windows, billboards, pillows, tables seen from above, sidewalks, dresser drawers, mirrors, ovens, refrigerators, dishwashers, washer/dryers, fluorescent light fixtures, rugs, genies’ carpets, soccer fields, space bars, spatula heads, robot torsos, mosquito legs, and shoe boxes to all look roughly the same. She also wishes that the world were rectangular, with an edge or four, so that she could regard it with similar awe as she does space bars. My stickwoman self dislikes words such as: chairman, fireman, businessman, and stickman; the connotation of doctor, engineer, and president as professions for men; and, drumroll please, the phrase human race. Complaints and irate tirades can be directed to the coordinates (-1,3), found on most Cartesian planes.