"Are you here for a funeral? His name is, or I guess was, Jeremy."
I'm only dressed like I'm here for a funeral. Mostly anywhere I am, I'm dressed like I'm going to a funeral. It's not, I think, that I'm particularly funereal, I just always wear black. It is a real challenge, for example, to go two weeks not wearing black AND trying to incorporate red in my wardrobe, for Chinese New Year, which I don't normally pay much attention to, but this year is "mine" and therefore, special. Theoretically. According to someone I love and trust. So, two weeks, mostly not wearing black. It is entertaining, and I am relieved when it is over.
At any rate, no, I'm not here for Jeremy's funeral. I don't know where it is supposed to be, either, despite being dressed in black.
~ ~ ~
"As your sex therapist, I need to know WHY you're..."
So I knew you were a sex therapist. I didn't know you'd designated yourself as MINE. (No money changed hands, but also I got no insight or advice. Still: I have a sex therapist!)
~ ~ ~
"Do you got a man?"
He rolls up on me in the parking lot of Family Dollar.
I know, classy, right?
He drifts his car next to my parked one as I get in and repeats the question.
(Does that tactic EVER work for you, friend?)
What do I need with a man?
"To take you out on a beautiful day like this, maybe see a show, something like that."
(Sweetie, I may be the same age as your Mom. Or possibly your Grandma. I'm flattered and you're cute, but hard pass.)
I have three and a half jobs. I do not have time for a man, but thanks for asking.
~ ~ ~
"You drink more than anybody I know."
I find that hard to believe, and say so.
"Not drinking, but drinking things. Look at you."
She has a point. I have a glass of water with ice, a glass of water without ice into which I'm stirring Emergen-C, a beer, a cup of tea and a cup of coffee.
Huh. I DO drink a lot. Is that, do you think, a problem?
~ ~ ~
"My client may cancel, if it turns out that she has cherry pudding."
Please say that again. It sounded as if you said your client may have cherry pudding, but I think that's probably not what you said.
She stares, then tosses her head back in laughter.
"Oh!" she says, "Oh! that's funny! Jury duty."
And we both laugh and laugh and LAUGH.
~ ~ ~
"My first husband was gay. Don't tell anybody."
Who would I tell? And why? Also, who would care?
The Go-Gos, Our Lips Are Sealed
