I am Paris Hilton

I'm feeling a strange affinity for Paris Hilton. Indeed, I NEVER thought I'd say that. But I feel here the way she must feel in most places outside her circle. People staring completely, utterly, unbelievably unabashed like I'm a TV, men with empty proposals of empty love because they think I could fulfill a world of unattainable possibilities that have nothing to do with my character... And Paris, too, is probably unused to being made fun of to her face (though I can't relate to internet scandals), but that doesn't mean people don't want to-- very much like a toubab woman waiting with a group of tired senegalese to pull water with her softunworked hands that could hold a plane ticket to escape whenever she wills it. Like the witch-faced woman who laughed and laughed once she heard I cried when I was lost. "You cried?!" she repeated over and over. I still don't even know her name. And the woman who say, "You can't speak Pulaar," when I struggle, even though they know I can understand that. Do babies cry when they see Paris Hilton? Maybe not, but surely someone must. And girls must look up to her with no idea why-- like the ones who looked at me, giggling embarressedly like I was a boy they liked. Then they'd unugol extra hard if they thought I was watching, clapping the whole way, as if I were a talent scout who might sweep them away on a toubab horse to an American castle. And the conversation circling around and whispered behind poor poor Paris. Oh and how could I forget the dciding similarity: our ineptitude at anything and people's simultaneous forgiveness and resentment for this. Indeed, I imagine she'd look very much like me carrying water on her head. Lastly, if Paris were here in my stead, I think our thoughts would match better than her shoes and dog purse. Hotel sheets with mints on pillows, movie theaters with giant tubs of popcorn we couldn't finish, airconditioned rooms with recliner chairs, chocolate chip cookie dough milkshakes, fancy restaurants in brand new dresses...

I tried to analyze my absurd fixation with frappucinos and I think I came up with something semi-profound but forgot it under the pull of the fantasies. I didn't even have them that often in the US. I was joking when I said I'd miss them the most... but now I hear myself making promises that I'll some day live a life in which I'll have one every day. I brainstorm career options which would allow me to afford that. What is wrong with me?
Even Paris would have more class.