Missed Connections

Missed Connections: Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Starbucks Beauty

I've started going to Starbucks again—after work or on days off only, because I took a cup into work once and got a lecture about the evils of big corporations and the consumer's responsibility of only purchasing fair-trade coffee beans.

Long blond hair. You were checking your Facebook on your Mac.

Not me then. Can't a brunette catch a break?

You are unbelievable, but I saw the guy in the orange jacket pick you up. I'm not into splitting up couples so I kept to myself. Hope to see you there again.

Interesting how he wants to see her again, if only from a distance. I can't decide if that's stalker-ish or romantic.

Sexy Neighbor

I just moved—what if someone saw me and fell in love? I may have seen him in the elevator or in the lobby where we get our mail. It could be so romantic if we've been eyeing each other for a while. But if he's a creeper, he could be pressing his ear to our shared wall right now.

For once I'm hoping it's not me in the post.

To the sexy woman next door. I've wanted you for over nine months now.

It's not me. Relieved, I read on, now curious.

But we're both married, so I must admire you from afar. We're both home during the day. You are on oxygen. You saw me recycling a lot of "special magazines." Reply with your dog's name if you want to see what could happen between us.

What the flaming fuck? My fingers take me back to the menu, and I scroll down, trying to find one that doesn't sound so strange.

Then, stepping from the computer, I head to my kitchen and pour a glass of ice-cold milk so I can dunk a white chocolate macadamia nut cookie. There's a fancy grocery store on the same block as Inner Space, and while I can't afford most of their prices, their bakery is worth it. Since moving out of Pete's, my diet has been pretty lackluster. I miss his cooking almost as much as I miss him.

It's sad how eager I've been for Saturday all week.

The hippies are doing one of Fern's courses, so I get Monday off as well—a much-needed mental break from Inner Space. Realizing how tense my shoulders are, I decide to head to the bathroom for a hot shower before my second cup of tea.

Dad's prescription can't be filled until Monday morning, so I'll pick his pills up and take them to him Monday afternoon, just in case. It wouldn't be the first time he didn't have enough and went without for a day or two, worried about inconveniencing me—which is ridiculous. I would do anything for him.

The water gently pounds the knots from my shoulders and back, but it's way too hot, so I turn it down to tepid after a few minutes. Being a paralegal had me chained to a desk, which is hard on the body, but I wasn't doing load after load of laundry all day like I am now. It's the folding that sucks more than anything, but I'm faster at it than when I started. Not only that, but I'm constantly navigating unfamiliar territory, worried about what misstep I'm going to make.

My wardrobe, my opinions on feminism, dryer sheets, and dishwashers... More often than not, I have to be on full alert for potential land mines with my bosses. Despite my research into energy work, I don't know the rules yet, and Ziggy and Fern are so different from me. They've noticed my tension and encouraged me to get massages from them, but the thought of either of my bosses or my coworkers getting me naked and rubbing away my tension weirds me out. Some lines can't be crossed, and I'd like to keep it professional.