4
I will start the day with a smile and clenched fists. No one will get in my way today.
I'm sitting on the toilet with my phone in hand, typing out the longest message I've ever sent to Layla. I need to share this absurdity with someone. Even as I'm rehashing, I can't comprehend what just happened.
Layla:Holy cow, milk guy…
Me:He's a Milk-Dud, no question about it. I'm legit hiding in the bathroom right now because it's the only way I can prevent myself from walking out of the building.
Layla:Dude, if you don't hang onto this job, we won't be able to afford rent next month. So, that reminder should help too.
Thank you, Captain Obvious.If Layla's job was reliable, I wouldn't feel like I'm the only one responsible for our livelihood. We aren't in a relationship, and I thought this type of problem was exclusive to marriages. Similarly, If I share my thoughts with her on the subject, she'll go postal. I'm the first to admit, she makes more money than I do most of the time through her random jobs, but it either trickles or pours in, and when it trickles, it's rough.
Me:You're not helping.
Layla:I have a dumb question. Do you think this milk model knows what he signed when agreeing to this project? He probably fills out hundreds of contracts a year, but who has time to read all that?
If he doesn't know what he signed, I would still call him a moron. Either way, this guy isn't walking out of this situation with a positive outlook.
Me:I assume he knows. I don't see how the expectations couldn't have been made clear before he took the job.
Layla:I don't know, Mads.
I draw in a full breath and push the stall door open, finding Minnie Mouse standing in front of the mirror. Her eyes focus on her mouth as she applies the reddest lipstick I've ever seen. "Blood-red?" I ask her.
"I don't understand," she says, giggling.
"The color name of your lipstick," I clarify. "It's usually written on the bottom."
She looks at the cap and squints. "Goodness, it is blood-red. You know your makeup, huh?"
"Yeah, it's not something I brag about, but colors are my thing."
"I like colors, as well," she replies with a perky grin.
"You really like Minnie too, huh?" I lean toward the sink and wave my hand under the faucet.
"I don't like her as much as you might assume." Her eyes widen while focusing on the red lipstick she's applying. "I don't know."
The reflection offers me a glimpse at a hint of sadness that seems to be running through her head. She drops her lipstick into her clasp clutch and reaches her hands under the faucet. I shouldn't be watching so intently, but as a dollop of soap hits her hands, the smile on her face falls flat. There is definitely something dark brooding inside her head. I've seen it before, except not this badly.
"Why do you dress this way then?" I'm careful with the way I ask, trying to sound upbeat and supportive, but I also can't imagine a logical explanation.
She cups her hand over her mouth as she utters a quiet laugh, then continues scrubbing at the skin of her palms. There's no soap left to wash away, but she's still scouring. Minnie—Michelle clears her throat as if she has something important to say. "My boyfriend has a fetish for Minnie Mouse, so I try to appease him. Everyone has their thing, right?" A fetish—the thought did not cross my mind.That's disturbing, yikes.
"Well, I get it, but it's not like your boyfriend is here, so why dress like this during the day? There's always a place and time in the bedroom, you know?" I laugh and nudge my shoulder into hers, but she doesn't reply.
"Mickey is my boyfriend, so yeah, it's a work-day thing too." Mick, Mickey. Of course. Why didn't I put two-and-two together?Ew. Oh God, she's an odd duck—err—mouse, but pretty beneath all the makeup, as far as I can see. She doesn't need that dip-shit.
I force myself to pause before saying the wrong thing or potentially digging a deeper hole, but the words come out on their own, anyway. "Wow, a Disney romance in the workplace, huh?" I wonder if it would be funny if I told her I found Dummy, Dopey, and Mopey in the conference room, but it's probably not a good time. At least I handled my reaction well.
"Yeah," she replies with a downcast expression, and I sense she doesn't want to go into detail.
I grab a few paper towels from the dispenser to dry my hands, debating whether I should keep my festering thoughts to myself. Who am I kidding? My thoughts aren't containable. "Look, it's none of my business, but I wouldn't let anyone tell me what to wear. Even fantasy play time needs to be a mutual decision—that's why people use safe words, you know? If you can't be yourself, the man is not worth it. Trust me." Listen to me preach; queen of being single and not mingling, but I do give advice like I'm successfully tending to five spouses at the same time, all of whom are unsuspecting of one another.
A tear falls from her heavily mascara-lined eyes, leaving a white streak in its path of makeup destruction.Great. I've got Minnie Mouse tearing up in the bathroom and a shitload of trouble waiting for me out in the office. "I know. Everything you're saying is true, but we've been together for two years, and I don't know how to be without him. He wasn't always like this—not at the beginning, anyway. Character play was just for Disney trips, but then it became a holiday thing, and before I knew it, I became Minnie."
"I guess love speaks in different ways, and when it happens, sometimes it's like a freight train speeding through the darkness."
