ask—a get-to-know-the-new-kid work-conversation— “when’s your
birthday?”
Sometimes I say, “March 23rd,”
And sometimes I say, “March 23rd, the
same day as Joan Crawford’s.”
Because that person may get the joke; we can
Dually recall:
Faye Dunaway sitting at one end of a table
Pepsi businessmen leaning elbows on the table
Listening in fear and irritation
And her eyebrows and her perfect Joan lips
Because she says, “Don’t fuck with me, fellas!”
It’s a laugh-out-loud moment when she says that—
And sometimes I muse aloud to the person who asked me for my birth date:
If we share the same birthday, do I share the same qualities with Joan?
If that person got all this. Maybe like
Joan, I’m the kind who winks when she says shit.
So I suppose when I say,
“March 23rd, the same day as Joan Crawford’s,”
I am testing that person to see if that person can detect
This, too: don’t fuck with me, fellas.
It’s true.
— Stephanie Brown