Hi. I’m back. Sort of. I was away, writing my tush off. I’m trying to figure out what’s next for here. Something is next. There is a reason why I renewed this website. I’m not done yet. Not even close folks.
Here’s a funny little prompt response/story to get you laughing until next week when I get my shit together. Actually, it might be Labor Day (after), but stay tuned.
xo
You were convinced you needed glasses.
The clicking sound is driving me fucking crazy. Click, swish.
What about now? Better?
Um, sure. I think. Or say? Did I say that?
She smiles at me, so I must have said it out loud. She is tinkering with the machine again. She seems lost in her task. Jessica. Her plastic name tag reads ‘Hello, I’m Jessica, Your Friendly Optometrist.’ She’s actually not that friendly. Jessica has that perfunctory engagement that makes me uncomfortable. In the absence of warmth, I fill the space with words. Useless words. Unintentional words. Stream of consciousness that doesn’t end until I’m put out of my misery.
Jessica’s name tag is pinned to a white lab coat? This is a false premise. Absurd. What is she cooking up in a lab? As if she’s going to fashion my eyeglasses herself. The bullshit coat is on top of a wrap dress that I’m confident she purchased as a discount designer store. The dress boasts some unidentifiable pattern in rust and navy and golden yellow. The belt is pulled tight around a trim waist and she’s forgone practical footwear in favor of three-inch slingback pumps.
This shoe choice tells me a lot about Jessica. She wants more. She’s a ‘you never know’ woman. You never know who you are going to meet, and you never know where and you never know what’s going to happen. She always wears expensive lacy undergarments and takes time for mascara and dabs Nemat Amber fragrance oil behind her ears and on her wrists. She believes the effort of cooking a real meal is worth it, always. She doesn’t subscribe to short cuts. She works out every morning and drinks sixty-four ounces of water a day and has a vitamin and skin care regime that she adheres to, religiously.
She reads New York Times bestsellers, but sprinkles in the odd romance novel. She paints her toenails, even in the winter, and doesn’t understand people who don’t use deep conditioning treatments. She gets her car cleaned at least four times a year and actually changes out her windshield wipers when the auto body shop recommends it. She has special wipes for electronics and different ones for stainless steel appliances and other ones for kitchen countertops.
She never showers past 10 am and she endeavors to watch every Netflix series everyone is talking about and she reads just enough news to understand what the fuck is going on in the world. She shops at Trader Joes and also Stop & Shop and also Wild by Nature and also, Amazon Fresh. Her avocados are always perfectly ripe and her milk never smells off and her gluten-free multigrain crackers are never stale.
She always gets her roots dyed before they look obvious and she donates clothing before there are evident stains and holes, and can still speak the Spanish she learned in high school.
She leans back and stares at me, in a way that feels pressured.
What about that? Better? The way she asks isn’t unkind, but it’s not kind.
Um yeah, that’s great.
Fantastic, she says. I’ll leave your prescription at the front and Kelly can help you pick out the perfect frames.
I don’t need glasses, except Jessica thinks I do. So, I guess I need glasses.
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