Elizabeth Gomez: Little Liar

Hi! My name is Lizzie. Despite my adolescent appearance, I’m actually 46-years-old. I suffer from Benjamin Button disease. Most of you are familiar with this disease from the 2008 oscar award winning romantic fantasy drama starring Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett. This film makes people feel sorry for me, but I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I think it’s cool! For example, I’m the only girl I know that has a Barbie Dream House with a full liquor cabinet.

I was born in 1970 with a full head of hair and an accounting degree. Some people say that’s because my mother was Asian. I say that’s racist. I was raised by nuns because my mom died during childbirth and my father thought having a baby and a cocaine habit was a bad idea.

You may be asking, “Lizzie! How is this all physically possible?” Well, I say, don’t think about it too much. Let’s just answer it the way we do whenever science isn’t the answer – it was God’s will.

The worst about reverse aging is knowing that I’ll never find anyone to love. This disease is hard to explain and I know the relationship will never last. But, when I was around 40, when my appearance and age came close enough together, I thought “What the hell! Let’s try it anyway.”

I had heard about internet dating and was mesmerized. My neighbor told me that this was the way of the world now. He said, “You’ll love it!” and sadly, I believed him. I was worried about setting up my profile because most of my photos were from when I looked much older, but it turns out that on Tinder no one looks like their photos.

Andy Schmidt was my first match, or I like to refer to as the Guy with the Tramp Stamp tattoo. I don’t have a problem with tattoos, but I have to admit my bias. A man with a dragon fighting a pirate tattooed on his firm muscular back? Yes, please! A man two gnomes fighting over a cupcake above his hairy butt crack. No thank you. Not to mention that Andy Schmidt was so proud of this tattoo that it was his profile pic which, in retrospect, should have told me everything.

The next man to contact me on Tinder was Clown Killer 666. I was a little hesitant at first, but the fish weren’t biting, if you know what I mean, so I decided to go for it. We met for a happy hour at Chili’s and aside from the frothing at the mouth and his occasional whispers of “kill, kill, kill,” Clown Killer 666 was pretty hilarious. After that date, I never heard from him again. I did see that he posted a photo of him and some girl named Dead Sexy Bitch at the Gathering of Juggalos.

Then there was the billionaire. He’s pretty popular so I don’t want to give up his name. We’ll call him Tronald Dump. Our date started perfectly. He invited me on his private yacht where I was given a glass of champagne and a warm towelette spritzed with Evian upon entering. His assistant, Veruca, gave me a bathrobe and ask me to step into a tube like room. There about 10 little orange men with green hair arrived and slathered me with self tanner. Then they toweled me off, gave me a dress made of gold with Mr. Dump’s face printed on it, and handed me a steak – well done.

The boat was everything you could dream of and as I was walking towards the dining hall, I spotted the indoor pool. Can you imagine having a pool inside a yacht? It was right next to a room full of Chinese people hand sewing ties, which I thought was weird, but life of the rich, amirite?

When I entered the dining hall, Tronald stood from the high leatherback chair. His hair looked magnificent in the cool sea breeze, like a golden halo that seem to lift above his head and up and up and up and then his hair went right out the window. Tronald seemed unaffected by it and approached me reaching out his hand and I reached out mine and then he reached out further and grabbed my hoo-hoo! I was so shocked that I immediately just grabbed his. As we stood there, in complete silence, locked eye to eye, with his hand on my special place and my hand on his special place, I felt something in my stomach and then watched Mr. Dump’s face go from gleeful to horrified as I said, “I’m sorry. I’m having my period. And it’s a heavy flow day.”

Why he started crying like a big baby and ran away screaming, “Get her out of here! She’s such a nasty woman! Get her out of here!” To Mr. Dump, I say that’s what you get for trying to reach for a woman’s hoo-hoo!

I didn’t date much after that. Instead, I find love through books, movies, and by watching couples walk by me hand in hand. Don’t feel sorry for me though; be happy for me. Even though I may be lonely, I’ll never settle for less, even if less could end up being our next president.

This piece was performed for Chicago’s Biggest Liar Contest, created by Scott Whitehair, in November 2016.