The Weird Kid

We took Smudge to Sean's library, that big beautiful college castle, to try and show off her Pretty Pirate Princess number, red skulls woven into cheap black lace, at their employee Halloween party. She hated her itchy dress and refused to sparkle for onlookers. She kept up the doleful howling, pulling the black-laced bodice away from her skin. She also refused to carry the battle ax we bought her. All in all she was a sorry excuse for The Teeny Queenie of Blood.

At the door we met Sean's favorite co-worker, who is a woman, but has the decency to be a lesbian so as to avoid any strained feelings. She had canceled their plans to have a beer last weekend. She was sick.

I inquired to her health. She said she was better and kept talking, saying things that were plenty appropriate and convivial. I assume. I don't remember. I just remember registering her feeling better as a good, comforting thing. Sean probably won't come home sick, then.

That is when I looked at the elevator and thought, "There is an elevator. I'm going to want to be on that." And started walking toward it.

She was still talking. Had been, facing me and everything. But I had gotten my answer. I was done. My brain quit of her. And I swear I even like her.

She gave a small startled reflex and turned to keep up with me as I walked away. I caught myself after only two steps, tried to play it off like I was chasing Smudge (who was securely in her father's arms....lord) but what is wrong with me? I often miss huge chunks of what people say to me because I decide it is extraneous. I'm such a selfish little frig!

Sometimes I feel like I'm a mind-reader, all the time I spend analyzing and prying at people. And I predict nothing more of value is going to come from an interaction, so, surely they're done too. Right? That's really assholic.

Anyway. Happy election day. I fucking hate politics. I'm done.