So, I get home from work at 8:30. I was supposed to have dinner with an old friend tonight, but when I got to work I was reminded that we had Back to School Night. Oops. None of my kids’ families ever show up anyway, but I still need to be there in case. Anyway, I got a call for a massage this afternoon and we agreed after work would be fine. I love getting massages before I go to bed and I love getting money to pay the mortgage, so it’s mutually beneficial.
By the time 9:15 rolls around I decide to text and see if he is still coming (this is a new client). He sends back a message asking if I mean if he going to be late to Boulder. I write back that I’m not really sure what he means and that I was under the impression he had a massage appointment with me. He wrote back and said he didn’t realize that was my number and that he was only a block away. Several minutes later, I get another text asking if I was crazy. I wrote back that I am only crazy sometimes—I thought I was being funny. After awhile he wrote back and said he was really nervous. I wrote back asking him if he thought this was a different kinda of massage than I thought it was. He said he knew it was a real massage, that he was just scared. By 10, he said he was too afraid (there were several minutes between each text). By this time, I could have walked the dogs and gotten into my sweat pants, or been half way to $85. Strangest thing ever. Well, not ever—but this was a first. I started to wonder if he was the one that was crazy. Maybe a good thing he didn’t come over. Getting chopped into to little bits is so not worth $85. Have I mentioned how much I love being single and paying the mortgage by myself? Oh, you didn’t know I was single? Where have you been?
While having Chinese (Thai, actually) tonight in-between school and back to school night, I was reading the paper. In said paper, there was an ad. I never read ads and I don’t know why I even noticed it. It was advertising Voodoo. For failed Romance. $200. It said it was better than Psychics because it actually gets results.
So, please send money. When Chad ends up back in love with me, I can rest easy because I know it’s all due to an old rotten chicken foot on a string. I feel real good about myself that I can’t have that importance or lure of an appendage of fowls.