CRINGEWORTHY
“Jeez,could that have been any morecringeworthy?” I curse myself as I furiously wipe down the glass cases with cleaner. I’ve already cleaned them twice since Sam Stone left. “Why did I have to act like some desperate woman of the night when he had his hands on my waist? I almost lunged for his mouth.” I groan again, recalling my juvenile comment about marrying tacos. “God, I’m so pathetic,” I shout.
“Who’re you talking to, Mac?”
“Shoot. You startled me.” I exclaim to my coworker, Diane, jumping. “You’re here early.”
“And avoiding my question. Why do you think you’re pathetic?”
Diane is in her forties, a single mom of two beautiful girls and divorced from a deadbeat dad. She’s also an artist, but she hasn’t had time to do any work for, in her words, “fucking ever.” It’s a shame because I’ve seen some of her pieces and they’re unbelievable. She uses multicolored glass that she fires in a kiln and then sets in gold and silver. They’re stunning.
“Oh, I’m just pathetic when it comes to guys. You know that.”
“I do. I’ve seen you in action before.” She sighs. “You know what your problem is?”
“Yes. I’m a loser,” I deadpan.
She lets out a little laugh. “No. You’re not a loser, angel. You’ve got no confidence. You’re a beautiful, clever, amazing young woman. If you’d just repeat that to yourself like a hundred times every morning, then maybe things would change.”
I chuckle at her idea and at her eternal optimism. Diane has been dealt a pretty shitty hand when it comes to men, but she’s ever the romantic. “You mean like ‘Daily Affirmations with Stuart Smalley’?” That was an old Saturday Night Live segment with Al Franken. Pops and I watched that show religiously. I haven’t had the heart to watch it since.
“I can’t say that I’ve seen that show, but if it’s about saying positive things about yourself, I think you should listen to Stuart Smalley.”
“I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me,” I recite.
“Exactly. Just keep saying that.” Diane nods as she sets her purse and coat in the back. “Well, you’re off if you want to be. Theresa said it’s been dead.”
Not that dead. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, I sold one of my pieces.”
Diane squeals. “Which one?”
“The necklace.”
“Oh, that one was fantastic. Congratulations, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.” Diane is so encouraging and loving. I bet she’s a wonderful mom.
“And there’s more….”
She stops and turns to me. “More?”
“Yep. He wants another one. He’ll be here on Friday to pick it up.”
“No shit. That’s amazing. It’s just a matter of time before your sales really get going, and it looks like you’re well on your way.”
“You should get a few things done. I’m sure Theresa would find a spot for your pieces. They’re unique.”
“Yeah, I should. I’ll put that on my to-do list. It’ll be number 2,360. So, I’ll get to it eventually,” she jokes.
“I know. You’ve got a full plate. I’m sure you’ll get to it when you’re ready.”
“That I will. Have a good night, Mac. See you later.”
I grab my trench coat from the back along with my old purse and head out the door. “Yep, see you later.”
The late-afternoon chill has already set into my bones. This coat isn’t the warmest thing, but I can’t bring myself to wear anything else. Not yet, anyway. The sidewalks are free of snow, but they’re wet and icy in spots, and I, of course, forgot my boots. I’m sliding around on my cheap flats, attempting to get to the bus stop without falling on my ass, when my phone chimes. I pull it out of my pocket and see a text from Lauren.
Lauren:Have a drink with me tonight? My treat.
Me:Sure. Something quick. Nothing fancy.
