When Jeannie got out of the car that Sunday afternoon two weeks ago, she asked me how I was doing. I told her the truth instead of abiding by my Pappap’s rule of “it’s easier to just say ‘fine!'” and admitted to her that I was hungover, and possibly slightly concerned I might puke on her shoes.
I had already canceled plans once with her when I was sick a few weeks ago, and no way was I doing that twice! I canceled twice on Sandy for after-work drinks and now she thinks I hate her/am allergic to her/am a horrible liar.
I’m going to have a reputation soon.
Jeannie and I went to one of my favorite places, the Mattress Factory, where we pretended to understand the things we were seeing. Jeannie taught me that sometimes it helps to read the informative plaques next to each art installation.
Afterward, we walked through a house for sale down the street which had obnoxiously shallow closets. I originally wanted Jeannie to buy the house, because it was old and weird, but then I worried about where she would hide if a killer was after her, a la Michael Myers.
She said she liked how that was the first place my mind went, but that’s just my “normal.” After awhile, she probably wouldn’t like it so much. I know Henry sure doesn’t.
We ended the day with coffee at Crazy Mocha, where I had to pee so bad even though there were at least 87 bathrooms I could have patronized at the Mattress Factory, and then I used the last of the toilet paper, wherein I had an existential crisis over whether to tell an employee.
I ended up not telling an employee about the toilet paper. But at least I didn’t puke on Jeannie’s shoes.
The rest of my day was pretty horrible, so I was thankful for this one bright spot.