Monday, March 8, 2010


I shuffled down our steep stairs in my oversized pink slippers, careful not to trip over the stray shoes and papers littering the steps. The seven o'clock sun was softly shining through our dusty windows, as if it wasn't entirely awake either. As I opened the kitchen door with a click, I noticed him sleeping in a sort of distorted way on his hair-littered blue dog bed. I gently put my hand on his soft black pelt; checking for signs of life from him has become routine lately. To my relief, he lazily opened his eyes and stared at me almost accusingly for waking him from his peaceful slumber. I rubbed his warm ears and continued with making breakfast.
Yellow gel-filled fish pills were scattered on the tabletop, and I momentarily had a fantasy that they would be able to cure cancer. I knew better, though.

I watched my persnickety French teacher roam around the room, seeking out students to accuse of n'ayant pas leurs devoirs. I saw my friend giggle into her palm as she watched Madame Lefevre pull up her purple belly-button-high pants. Out of boredom, I began to pick at the rubbery Band-Aid on my left wrist that was threatening to fall off. "What happened there?" my friend asked. "Did you cut yourself?" she joked.
"Oh totally," I said sarcastically, pressing the bandage harder against my battered skin with a sigh.

It was fifth period wellness (don't even dare to call it health or gym-- all of my previous teachers have articulated it to be a pet peeve). I sat alone at a two-person desk, picking at the neon green eraser at the end of my worn-down pencil. The end had frayed due to my indecisiveness on this morning's CAPT test. Mike walked through the door with Gracie. She was laughing that annoying laugh of hers that would make a hyena laugh seem acceptable. Bitch.
Mike walked over to me with Gracie and looked ready to sit down in the vacant seat next to me. "Hi."
I began to open my mouth to say something, but Gracie beat me to it. "Mike! Over here," she urged, walking over to another two-person table.
Mike followed, glancing at me apologetically. "Sorry, Kay."
"Whatever," I muttered. I took that as an answer to who was the preferred friend. Bitch.
About ten minutes later, I began to read an article our teacher had passed out on the evils of technology and internet predators and sexting while I listened to my iPod on shuffle. "You never know when racy photos can end up in the wrong hands..." I read. "Wow, I Can Get Sexual, Too" by Say Anything suddenly popped on, and I tried my best to stifle my giggles. It was probably the most amusing moment of my day.

I saw him in the lunchroom. Forget butterflies. Try fucking Luna Moths.

It was forty-two seconds until school was over. Half the class was still obediently sitting in their seats, while the other half dared to awkwardly stand in front of the door, anxiously awaiting that monotonous bell that we dreaded half of the time. I was a part of the latter, eying the clock as I stood inches from the door. I saw Christine a few feet away, looking rather studious clutching her books to her chest. I considered Christine to be one of my "tertiary" friends. She talked to me every once in a while, but she often vexed me for one reason or another. She was talking to Lauren, one of the girls I knew from the track team. Naturally, I began to eavesdrop in on their conversation.
"What did he say?" Lauren asked excitedly.
"He said he would be too busy to be a good boyfriend," she humph-ed.
I felt myself swallow hard. I knew exactly who she was talking about. Andrew. He was the only one I knew that would have business as an acceptable excuse for not having a girlfriend. Not to mention him and Christine had become close friends over the past year, as him and I became more distant. But I knew he was fibbing. I felt a small sense of pride knowing that he didn't used to think he would be too busy for me.

Later in the afternoon, I ventured to the local health food store with my dad to buy groceries. We're not exactly health nuts, but then again, half of their products don't meet their "healthy" claims, either.
As we finished picking the shelves of our favorite foods, we wheeled over to the checkout counter. Our cashier was in his forties or fifties, and he was very enthusiastic.
"Oh, this is just excellent. Amazing dip," he said, taking the layered salsa dip from our grocery cart. "I love this too!" he said chirpily, referring to the store brand ketchup we had picked out. "You know, I used to love Heinz, and then I tried this and never went back!"
My dad nodded as he helped me pack the groceries into their recycled paper bags. I mentally debated with myself where to put the eggs.
"Oh, thank you so so much for helping to bag the groceries," he said as if "bagging the groceries" was actually code for "saving my baby from a man-eating tiger".
"Well, it's kind of a habit," my dad said. "Why? How many people don't help you bag their groceries?"
He shrugged as he scanned a can of dog food. "About 50 percent."
The cashier behind him turned around. "Yeah, like 45, 5o percent." The elderly woman he was checking out for suddenly looked ashamed that she was allowing him to bag her four items.
"What does the 45 percent that doesn't help you bag do?"
"Just watch," our cashier laughs. I imagined the cashiers exchanging annoyed glances whenever non-baggers came along. I hoped I'd remember to always be a bagger.

5 amusing musings:

Grace said...

Sorry about you having a bad day. =(

Stari said...

T.T your day sounds horrible or no... just think it could be worse*knocks on wood*
well hope tomorrow's better!

Candice said...

Wow. What a long day. Nevertheless; I hope you will have a better day tomorrow.(:

Kay said...

awh, thanks guys :]

tomorrow's always another day :D

Candice said...

RE: Exactly. Same thing. (;

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