I realized recently that I've turned a corner. First, I noticed
wrinkles regularly in all my
pictures. But then I noticed I was talking to cats. And answering them. A
typical conversation goes like this:
Me: Hello, kitty. You are still looking very gray, I see. How
are you?
Me: And why is that?
Graysee: Meoooooooow.
Graysee: Meow!!!!!
Me: I understand that, but we tried repeatedly and it didn’t
work.
Graysee: MEOW
Me: I LET YOU OUT SEVERAL TIMES AND YOU CLIMBED
THE FENCE AND WERE A VERY. BAD. CAT. The reason your brown friend gets to go outside is because she never runs away!!!
Graysee: Meow
Me: That’s what you say, but we keep ending up at the same
spot.
At this point, I usually quit talking because I am truly horrified that I am not only
talking to a cat, but answering for it as well.
This is just one of the many ways in which I am becoming eccentric. In an effort to curb eccentricity, I work part-time at an upscale shopping mall. I figured that being around lots of not-14-year-olds on a regular basis would be good for me and force me to rub shoulders with normal folks, people who don't hold 2-sided conversations with cats.
The problem is that, unlike the other amazing women who work at the boutique with me (we'll call it Persimmon), I am very bad at dissembling. Let me give you a for instance...
We have a reality TV star who regularly endorses us, and the brand rewarded her endorsements by giving her her own product line. Now people come into Persimmon ALL THE TIME and ask me if I know Khloe, if she comes to the store, when her line is coming out, if it's true that her famous husband comes in sometimes and blah blah blah...
And unlike my coworkers, I cannot even feign interest in Khloe's life or habits or the fact that she is famous for being famous. Margaret and Shirley, my two older colleagues, laugh whenever a customer asks me what Khloe's new fragrance line smells like and I make a big show of getting out the clipboard with my "script" written on it and reading my lines: "This signature fragrance is inspired by Khloe's natural grace and elegance. Her truly singular personality is exhibited by the soft notes of..." (I can't even remember the rest). After the customer leaves, I mutter mutinous things under my breath while Margaret and Shirley heckle me.
On Tuesday, Khloe is coming to the store for an event. There are not going to be any appetizers or wine or special discounts, so -- as far as I can tell -- the event will consist purely of people ogling Khloe. And who is the one employee scheduled to work the event? Me. Obviously. Because Fate is a cruel mistress and I'm the only employee at risk of rolling my eyes during such an auspicious gathering.
All of this illustrates that I am becoming crotchety. When students come to my class without a pencil and ask me if they can borrow one, I cast them a withering glare and then tell them to write in their own blood.
I talk to cats.
I gnash my teeth over celebrity culture. But Khloe has a famous husband and a cute baby and her own reality show and a "graceful and elegant" new product line. So maybe she's actually doing things right and the joke's on me. Who knows.
This is just one of the many ways in which I am becoming eccentric. In an effort to curb eccentricity, I work part-time at an upscale shopping mall. I figured that being around lots of not-14-year-olds on a regular basis would be good for me and force me to rub shoulders with normal folks, people who don't hold 2-sided conversations with cats.
The problem is that, unlike the other amazing women who work at the boutique with me (we'll call it Persimmon), I am very bad at dissembling. Let me give you a for instance...
We have a reality TV star who regularly endorses us, and the brand rewarded her endorsements by giving her her own product line. Now people come into Persimmon ALL THE TIME and ask me if I know Khloe, if she comes to the store, when her line is coming out, if it's true that her famous husband comes in sometimes and blah blah blah...
And unlike my coworkers, I cannot even feign interest in Khloe's life or habits or the fact that she is famous for being famous. Margaret and Shirley, my two older colleagues, laugh whenever a customer asks me what Khloe's new fragrance line smells like and I make a big show of getting out the clipboard with my "script" written on it and reading my lines: "This signature fragrance is inspired by Khloe's natural grace and elegance. Her truly singular personality is exhibited by the soft notes of..." (I can't even remember the rest). After the customer leaves, I mutter mutinous things under my breath while Margaret and Shirley heckle me.
On Tuesday, Khloe is coming to the store for an event. There are not going to be any appetizers or wine or special discounts, so -- as far as I can tell -- the event will consist purely of people ogling Khloe. And who is the one employee scheduled to work the event? Me. Obviously. Because Fate is a cruel mistress and I'm the only employee at risk of rolling my eyes during such an auspicious gathering.
All of this illustrates that I am becoming crotchety. When students come to my class without a pencil and ask me if they can borrow one, I cast them a withering glare and then tell them to write in their own blood.
I talk to cats.
I gnash my teeth over celebrity culture. But Khloe has a famous husband and a cute baby and her own reality show and a "graceful and elegant" new product line. So maybe she's actually doing things right and the joke's on me. Who knows.
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