The eye doctor asked me if I wanted to overnight my new contacts and I was all “Oh, no, I don’t want to pay for that.”
But I pay for that anyway.
The folks came through on a return from Georgia. It was fine last night and not good this morning. My dad actually made piggy noises at my mom who put two pats of butter on her one sweet potato pancake, while he had three, with caramel nut topping. Even our waitress noticed and was appalled.
As I get older, I experience it like he’s mentally ill. I don’t now. Maybe he is mentally ill. But we’re all going along just fine and then it’s like he just has to blurt out this nonsense. And sometimes I can even tell that he’s embarrassed by it. Though not often enough.
But still, he was talking about which son got which guitar when he dies and it upset me so much, him divvying up his crap like he’s going to die next week.
Yesterday, at the Gold Rush, I was sitting at a table waiting for the rest of my party, watching the girl at the next table. She was with a boy who appeared to be an old acquaintance from high school and they were playing catch-up. And he said something, I didn’t hear what, but she put her hair up and gathered her shirt together at her neck and, after a minute, put her coat on.
Her voice never changed. The expression on her face never changed.
But I wondered what he’d said that completely changed her mood.