Revenge on John Mayer.

She sat on the wall outside, feet dangling, just along from the Mexican restaurant where she and her husband had ordered takeout lunch. It was their 9-year wedding anniversary and they had taken the day off from work. She wore his jeans and a t-shirt, the early summer sun warm, chilly when the clouds covered it. In the distance she began to hear the muffled thumping of music being played loudly in a car, the melody beginning to escape the open windows the closer it got. As it drew level with her she couldn’t help but smile. A very new and shiny Mercedes was being driven by an older man with grey hair singing along to a well-known pop song. Initially cringing for him she let go of her judgment. As a fellow loud singer inside of cars, with hair that was beginning to flirt with grey, she understood the delight he was feeling. But what was that song? Was it David Grey? No, no it was…It was, John friggin Mayer! Ha! Yes, John Mayer! The dude was singing a John Mayer song at full volume. Back in her twenties she use to love a song of his. Not the one being played in the car but his really famous one, “ Your body is a wonderland.” It had been her song, her and a then new boyfriend's song. She loved that song. Every night when she would get back home to her shitty cockroach-infested, but much-loved apartment in Chinatown, NY she would kneel out of her bedroom window, put in headphones, light a cigarette and play that song. It was summer. She was in love! One night she and then-boyfriend went to a party. At some point in the evening, John Mayer showed up. The man who sang their song was there in the room with them! Taking her boyfriend's hand she went up to him and introduced herself. With a big smile, she told him that his song was their song. He didn’t smile back, he pushed her comment away with a sneer and a short miserable response which, 18 years later she can’t quite remember what exactly it was just that at the time she deflated like a balloon and exited the circle. But now here in a small coastal village far from her life back then she suddenly felt vindicated. She imagined nothing in this world would pain John Mayer more than to know who his target audience now was. For a singer who appeared to want to inhabit cool as intensely as a pig loves shit, his song being the anthem for aging rich white dudes in their flashy crisis cars was feeling like the sweetest revenge.