“Are you really going to say something like that to an emotional wreck of a woman?”
“I guess not.”
“Do you hear the psychosis in my voice, Eli?” He nods. “Then choose your words wisely.”
His nostrils flare as he nods. “Noted, don’t mention appearance or that you have toothpaste in the corner of your mouth.”
What?
Heat enrages me, and I point at the door, shouting, “Out!”
“Yup, saw that coming.” He starts to leave just as he snaps his fingers in the air and says, “Oh shit, can’t forget my deodorant.”
And before I can grasp his arm and hold him back, he moves past me and straight into the bathroom. The word “nooooooooooooo” is on the tip of my tongue as I watch him pause at the sink.
He looks back at me and then points at his shoe. “Why is my shoe in the sink?”
For the love of God, why?
Why are you doing this to me?
Especially on a day like today when I look like Shrek’s ugly friend Elmira with the third eye.
WHY?
I’ll tell you freaking why because my luck, when it comes to dignity during this season of my life, has absolutely run out. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever had any dignity since Eli fertilized me. Nope, it was stripped away from me. Apparently, it is not only my responsibility to carry this child but to suffer wild embarrassment the entire time as well.
Fine.
I accept it.
What’s next, universe? Do I pee my pants in front of the man?
Oh God, I take that back. I didn’t put that out there. Please, please don’t let that happen. I’d never survive. Farting, sure. Puke in the shoe, okay. But peeing my pants . . . No, there’s no coming back from that.
I’m blasted right back to the present when I hear, “Fuck, what’s that smell?”
My vomit.
That is my wet vomit you’re smelling, you beautiful nimrod!
“What smell?” I ask, playing nonchalant. Be cool, Penny, be cool. This is your moment to shine. Story time. *Mentally rubs hands together* We are taking back our dignity! “If you’re smelling anything, then you’re probably smelling the beginning of athlete’s foot. You don’t wear socks with loafers, so mold and creep are bound to accrue. Maybe consider a different shoe, something less showy and instead, more practical.”
Oooo, good one! Not only did you deter, but you insulted the ridiculously gorgeous grossed-out man in front of you.
I move away from the bathroom, happy with my response and hoping he follows, but when he doesn’t, I know there’s a slight possibility that my story is not settling well in his head.
“That is not athlete’s foot.” I glance over my shoulder just in time for him to look closer. His eyes shoot to mine, and he asks, “Is that vomit in my shoe?”
What is he, Inspector Gadget? Jesus.
Seems as though there are brains with the beauty.
“You know, I think I’m just going to throw my hair up in a bun and get to work. If you will excuse me—”
“Penny, why is there vomit in my shoe?”
Hands on my hips and back turned toward him, I say, “I don’t know, Eli. Maybe you should check within yourself to see why there’s vomit in your shoe.”
