It Looked Different on the Model - Laurie Notaro [6]
“Oh,” I said, smiling back. “This shirt pretty much captivated me!”
“It’s so cute,” she agreed. “I couldn’t believe it went on sale that much!”
“I know!” I said enthusiastically, and walked back over to the sales rack.
Frankly, I had no idea how I was going to get the shirt back on the rack without Amelie noticing that I had finger-painted it with body fluids, because that really was my first plan: Get it back on the rack and get out of the store. But after a moment I realized that you don’t try on a pair of pants, fart in them, and then put them back on the shelf, and the same rough politeness boundaries applied here, too. Plain and simple, I bled on it, I bought it.
So I picked up a little frilly slip I saw on the sales rack, too—also, duly noted, an “M” (there’s no such thing as an “L” on sale in a skinny-girl store, I am beginning to learn)—put it in front of the shirt, then walked the both of them back to the counter where Amelie stood, waiting.
“Oh, and a slip, too?” she said, to which I nodded again and laid them both on the counter, the slip on top and the tags for both visible.
“You know what? You can fold them up together, save on tissue paper,” I offered.
I didn’t want her handling the shirt any more than she needed to.
“And I don’t need a bag, either,” I added, just to make sure she didn’t come in contact with any of my DNA.
As I walked out of the store with my new tiny baby clothes in hand, I knew that, after all of that, the shirt was really the cutest thing ever, but it was still also an “M,” so in my book it sorta deserved what it got for messing with a big girl. Like Present-Day Laurie.
Who had just bought herself a brand-new, bloodstained, size “M” ruffly shirt after the toughest fight she’d ever had.
She’s a Pill
As soon as I saw the red envelope fall through the mail slot, I knew something was amiss. But it wasn’t until I tore the perforated edge and slid the envelope out of the mailer that I knew she had struck again.
“Oh no!” I whined, loud enough to prompt my husband to come running and entered the room with a worried look on his face.
“What is it?” he said quickly.
I extended my arm and stomped my foot as he took it from my hand.
“Precious!” he exclaimed, reading the title. “Based on the Novel ‘Push’ by Sapphire! You’re kidding. I thought you said you weren’t going to let her get on Netflix anymore.”
“You know I can’t control her,” I said quietly. “I think getting Zack and Miri Make a Porno in the mail last week more than proves that. She’s an entity unto herself. She does what she likes; I have nothing to do with it.”
“You need to get ahold of this,” my husband said, shaking the envelope. “Because this is now out of hand. I was expecting Battlestar Galactica today. And now I get to spend Saturday afternoon playing Halo and watching Precious?”
“Based on the Novel ‘Push’ by Sapphire,” I added.
“Set her straight, and do it now,” my husband warned. “Before we get three copies of Prince of Persia in the mail.”
“You don’t have to watch it,” I informed him.
“Of course you have to watch it!” he protested. “If you don’t watch it, you’ve asked the mailman to walk up to your house and back for nothing. And that’s just sadistic. I hate her.”
“Hate is a strong word,” I reminded him. “She doesn’t hate you.”
“Oh yeah?” he replied snidely, and held up the red envelope. “What’s this?”
I understood my husband’s anger, but, I mean, after all, it wasn’t me who put Precious on the list. She did.
Now, I will admit that she can be somewhat of a handful, but no one has experienced the consequences of her actions with as much interest as I have. Imagine, if you will, me waking up in a hotel room in New York, getting out of bed, and having my bare feet land in a nest of something crunchy that attacked my body quickly and with a forceful bond, like leeches. That’s exactly what happened to me before I shuffled to the bathroom and I realized I had a multitude of sticky cellophane wrappers affixed to my feet and ankles, and one particularly skilled wrapper with amazing climbing talents