Whew.
My barber came to get me, and wanted that we spend Thanksgiving dinner at her place, where her flatmates and friends were having some sort of potluck thing. You know, lo-fi college dorm style: Dips chips loud stereo and lots of drinks. So I said no and went with the more traditional tone: Big stuffed turkey, all the side dishes that go with it, hi-hello-howareyous from relatives I've not seen in a year. Comfortable. Also, boring.
Something I don't do: Stay on the phone for long. I'd rather whoever it is I'm talking to just come over. Talk in person. See your facial expressions. So she does. She drives over. She bobs her flashy dark hair and charms the stodgiest uncle with ratatat quirky conversation and funny quips and I don't know where she's getting all this. Her energy. Her vivaciousness. I've spent more than the necessary you're staying aren't you? here, and even my cousins have left ...so it's my turn with the adieus, kissing the air above cheeks, following the form.
"That was something else, wasn't it?" she asks, while driving like a maniac. Is that snow on the ground? Early this year, I mutter to myself, not quite cheering up yet. In a little while we're at her place, up the stairs, bang through the door, a wall of chatter bass hiphop and everything that a party should be hits us spang. And it's hugs hellos! a drink gets thrust into my hand. A pythonesque hug from some woman I've never seen before. She looks like she stars in a cabaret.
Her eyes sparkle! Must be a trick of the light. Or makeup. And her bright red lips. And she's dressed (I should say, barely) in some sort of Jessica Rabbit getup that would make even Jessica Rabbit's cheeks blush. She is out there, all right. And barrages me with a slew of getting to know you questions a mile a minute. Until I'm backed into a corner, and she holds me there by throwing up a - are those sequins? - leg to block me from, hey I uh ...need to freshen my drink. She's aggressive. Hm. And tells me Where do you think you're going? She leans in closer to whisper something in my ear
As the Mexican blather from my alarm clock blasts the air with cacophony, and I know the answer to her question exactly. It's Monday. If anything, I'll be swimming in chemicals and it's gonna be 10+ hours in the darkroom. Print for toning, says right here.
(Check class schedule.)