I’m getting a T-shirt made that says in mighty big letters:
LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE
After working two very long days, and as my friend Ed likes to say, I feel like pond scum.
Never quite sure what he means by that, but it sounds right. We’ve had a little dose of spring…milder temperatures with a crisp breeze to remind you it’s still March. I refer to this as blazer weather. Despite feeling comatose, I went for a walk, to air myself out if you will….landing at a nearby cafe.
A cup of coffee was in order…an IV actually, but Dean & Deluca said they were all out.
I sat on the corner stool by the window barely conscious looking out. I have bags below my eyes the size of wallets, and my hair has an involuntary punk look since I forgot to put my head under the faucet…a daily ritual to keep me from resembling Don King. Let’s consider the fact I was even dressed impressive.
I’m sitting there sipping, watching families in expensive sportswear go by who clearly got ample rest since shopping sure takes it outta ya, when a fortyish, well-dressed, a little too slick guy slid on the stool beside me.
With the exception of acne, short legs and a slightly pointed head, he was very attractive.
“You look in deep concentration,” he said, giving me a knowing wink. Brought to mind another guy I met who wasn’t really winking but twitching. Makes a girl think.
Pond scum I now see has very little to say since nothing would come out of my mouth. I acted as if I didn’t hear him, a ploy Camille taught me…just keep looking into space…he’ll assume you’re foreign.
He tried again.
“What is that you’re drinking…I’ll get you a refill.” Why couldn’t it have been gin, but since it wasn’t I kept pretending, no Ingles.
So I did the old cell phone trick J. Miller taught me, an old pro at cock-tail evasion, when you pretend to make a call. When he got up I thought, great…it worked. But then he was back like a Golden Retriever with strudel for two. I just didn’t get it. My hair alone should have kept him twenty feet away, plus it reeked of cantaloupe mousse that was left out in the sun too long since I was too beat to wash it out.
He then made the big mistake of reaching over taking my sunglasses off. It may as well have been my blouse causing me to hit the mosaic ceiling.
“HEY PAL…DON’T EVER TOUCH ME AGAIN…YOU HEAR ME!!!! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?”
“I’m Anthony, from Chicago. It’s about time you asked.”
I just shook my head getting up to leave.
“No no,” he said, getting up too, “at least finish your coffee. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
My charm was now way below sea level…nowhere near the pond.
“Look Anthony, I’m gonna give it to you straight…right now I’m so fucking tired I see two of you.”
“But that’s good. Two of me means you’ll have more fun.”
“No, you don’t get it. I’M EXHAUSTED…okay Susannah lower your voice…this guy is obviously brain dead…
I just want to be left alone. Okay?”
He shrugged, his nice tweedy blazer dawdling around his ears. “Alright, but we could have had such a nice afternoon.”
Just then I realized my sweat pants had come undone and are slowly slipping down my hips.
It hit me, you aren’t as bad off as you think Susannah. At last you remembered to wear undies.
All photos, Google Images.