Wednesday, December 5, 2018

Squirrel Syndrome


 A few weeks ago I smashed my middle finger between the seat and frame of a chair at a restaurant. Since then I've had a black splotch beneath the nail. It's slowly going away but not fast enough. I complained to Eve about it today and said I was going to get a manicure after work to cover it up. All of the Christmas parties are about to start and the black splotch will not go with any of my outfits. Eve asked if I wanted company. And that's how we ended up at a rather swanky salon on her side of town where they serve you wine if you get a mani-pedi.

I was happy for the pedicure because it meant I could still get my beloved shade--"I'm Not Really a Waitress." It's the wrong shade to wear with red so I chose something else for my fingers ("Vodka and Caviar").

Eve and I discussed the plans for the office holiday party we have somehow become in charge of pulling off. There are others on the committee but they aren't pitching in much. Anyway, we needed to figure out what we still need to buy. We both suffer from Squirrel Syndrome, that thing that happens when your thoughts are suddenly interrupted--like a dog when it sees a squirrel--and you end up covering a dozen different topics before you realize you were supposed to be focusing on something else. After a while the nail person began reminding us where we had left off.

Afterward, we decided to go to the mall. Eve wanted to return something, and I wanted to walk through Bed Bath and Beyond to look for things to add to the Christmas list my brother wants from me. I added a pour guard for my stand mixer. And then I decided to buy myself the food processor attachment (too expensive to ask for). There in front of the giant Kitchen Aid display, Eve told me she had a 20% off coupon I could use. "That would bring the price down to what?"

I didn't respond because--math. She knows I'm hopeless without a calculator, pencil, extra eraser and Google. I waited for her to calculate it out but she just looked at me. "Are you seriously waiting for me to answer that? You know I don't do math."

"It's 20%!"

"Which makes it less than the sale price. That's all I need to know." I looked away from her and saw a guy standing on the end of the display watching us and laughing like we were the Smothers Brothers.

"Of for--" I stopped listening as she broke it down for me. Fortunately, she had a squirrel moment when she spotted a display of mini cast iron skillets.

I don't even know what all we were talking about when we were in the china section but the sales associate, whom I had not noticed, approached us to say she was only following us because our conversation was funny. (This is how we made so many friends on the subway in NYC. I really need to write about that trip.)

Speaking of NYC (squirrel!), Eve thinks we should go to DC next. Or maybe Las Vegas. There was a third idea that I don't remember but it involved letting Paul come along.

We visited other stores, and when we'd had enough and were tired and very hungry, she sent a text to Paul to see if he wanted to meet us for dinner at our usual spot. He replied that he and Blaine were there at the bar. "It was only a matter of time before you'd come this way," he explained when we found them.

And so we had our Friday night gathering on Wednesday. Good thing since Friday is Christmas party 1.


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