“This chaos is because of your savage dog,” I said. The mastiff looked up at me, so calm it was clear he had the soul of a Buddha.
“He’s pretty dangerous,” Texas said. He was wearing another tight black T-shirt, like he’s sure we all want to see his nice pecs. “Normally I wouldn’t offer to rescue anyone’s cat from a tree, but it seems your movements might be limited by the trappings of the patriarchy…” He gestured toward my skirt, and sort of trailed off as if aware he’d overstepped his bounds.
“Did you just say ‘patriarchy’?” I snarled, and for a second I thought I’d lose my shit, but with the waiting room full of pets and their owners watching us, I kept it together.
“May I?” Texas asked, gesturing up at Charlize.
I nodded, hoping Charlize would scratch him, but my sweet pussy betrayed me, allowing him to scoop her from the top of the cabinet. She even purred.
“I’ve always wanted to hold Charlize Theron in my arms,” he said after he’d climbed down from the chair.
“I’ve always wanted to meet a man who would crack that oh-so-original joke,” I replied.
“The vet tech can see you now,” the receptionist said. I suspect she was desperate to get me out of the waiting room.
Texas handed me Charlize. “It’s been a joy stroking your—”
“Don’t you dare say it,” I said.
“I wouldn’t think of calling Charlize Theron a pu… rrrrfect kitten,” he said.
“Ugh,” I said. “A pun is worse than a pussy.”
“I’ll say,” he agreed.
While I wanted to get the last word in, right then I was overcome by a sneeze storm. With Charlize in my arms, I was hard-pressed to contain my sneeze juice, which Texas gracefully sidestepped. I could practically feel his suppressed laughter as I sneezed through the dog gate to the exam room.
I blame you, Everett, for my lack of a final retort, as you are the virus monkey who brought this cold to our house. Thanks to you, my natural wit was buried under an avalanche of disgusting sneezes. I’m not sure yet what you can do to repay me on your return from San Antonio, but it will likely involve a pint of vegan gelato and a (purely platonic!) foot rub.
Snottily,
Roxy
P.S. Charlize Theron has a respiratory infection and needs to be force-fed a horse pill every morning. So perhaps your efforts to get back in my good graces could start there. The happy news is the vet tech expects a full—if not speedy—recovery.
P.P.S. PATRICK JUST TEXTED ME! He noticed I haven’t been at work lately and got my number from Nelson! He just wanted to know if I’m okay! If I wasn’t a walking sneeze, I’d ask him what he’s up to for the Fourth. I’m beyond thrilled he’s thinking of me!
July 5, 2012
Dear Everett,
Thank you for the rent—only five days late!—and for loaning me your copy of the brand-new Dear Sugar book to keep me occupied until this head cold recedes! (You’re the only man I’ve ever met who loves Cheryl Strayed’s compassionate and inspiring advice as much as I do!) Today as I lay on the couch, reading and sipping beer to ease my sore throat, Dear Sugar’s exhortation that “the best thing you can possibly do with your life is to tackle the motherfucking shit out of it” reminded me that the thing I most want to tackle (to the ground) is the new Lululemon. As Dear Sugar encouraged me (and all her readers) to get “unstuck,” I began to ponder my lack of direction and general sense of malaise. Perhaps the answer lies in my righteous anger! Perhaps my Great Work just might be to rid the intersection of Sixth Street and Lamar Boulevard of that corporate-as-fuck Lululemon and return it to a local business in tune with the funky nature of Austin!
That’s when I remembered today was the grand opening of the Lululemon! As I felt the symptoms of my cold finally lift, I decided to follow Dear Sugar’s advice. I would get off the couch! I would get unstuck like a motherfucker and go survey my enemy—so I pedaled down to the Lululemon, locked up my bike, and went inside. I was going to try on a pair of those stupid tights, a recon mission. (To sabotage a place, first you must know it well.) So I picked out a pair of capri tights and headed to the dressing rooms. Once I had them on, I turned around to look in the mirror and my breath caught in my throat at the sight before me. My ass has never looked so incredible.
I was like: “Damn, girl.”
A voice trilled through the dressing room curtain: “Do you need anything? Another size?”
“I need fresh eyes to admire this ass of a vixen,” I said, pulling the curtain aside with a flourish.
For a split second, my mind struggled to connect the familiar face of the saleswoman with the trauma I had so recently endured. But within a moment I knew she was the redhead who’d caused all the recent drama in my life. I’d like to chalk up running into her in such a way to the trickster interventions of a certain goddess (Hecate), but Lululemon and Whole Foods sit catty-cornered from each other and I’m sure all the Lulu employees saunter across the street to Whole Foods for their lunch breaks.
“What’s up, Crumb Cake?” I said. Her face registered recognition as well. But it was hard to read what else was in her expression. Curiosity? Excitement? Disdain?
“My name is Artemis.”
“Well, Artemis, I guess it’s my turn to assault you at work.”
She rolled her eyes and said in the fakest voice imaginable, “Those are so flattering on you. A perfect fit.” She paused for a moment, and then spoke in a normal voice. “That’s the thing about this place. You want to hate it because of its pseudofeminist messaging and ridiculous prices, but the clothes look so damn good. Those are actually great on you.”
“I was just thinking the same thing!” I said, before I remembered she was supposed to be my enemy. I couldn’t help but picture how she’d paused at the exit of Whole Foods to give me that conspiratorial wave, as if somehow we were both in on some great cosmic joke. “Why do you even work here?”
“I started at the Lulu in Barton Creek Mall about a month ago. But this new store is a better location.”
“No, I mean, why do you work at a Lululemon at all?”
“I get to tell women they look beautiful all day, which in this society is revolutionary in and of itself. And I get a crazy discount on clothes for one of my alter egos.”
“Alter egos?” I asked. I glanced at her bare left hand—the cherry-tomato-sized diamond had left the scene.
She saw my gaze. “Oh, I’m actually not married,” she said.
Now I was really intrigued. “Then why were you wearing that gargantuan engagement ring?” I asked. “Please explain.”
She leaned in, lowering her voice. “I wear a fake ring and full Lulu when I go to Whole Foods so I can be my trophy wife alter ego! As a trophy wife, it’s so much easier to get hot guys that work there to bang me in the parking lot. Okay, I admit it—I’ve only been sleeping with two cashiers lately. But I swear every male Whole Foods employee is hot for trophy wife.”
Everett, I’ve been crushing on Patrick in Beer Alley for MONTHS and haven’t gotten past idle coworker chitchat. Meanwhile, all this Queen has to do is stop in for a green juice and she’s consummating the deed before she leaves the premises. Clearly I’d misjudged her. “Really?” I said.