Your Top is Ugly

I left the apartment with Jesus and General Lee on the walls and replayed the conversation from earlier.

"Well that's an interesting top you have on today," my patient said.

Yes, I suppose purple North Face is a strange choice for a bright, sunshiny day in May, I thought.

"Look, we match," I said and cringed at the realization.  Silence.

Interesting.  I hate that word.  There was an interesting smell in my house the other day and I sniffed around and scrubbed the toilet down twice before I realized the fifteen year old cat had missed the litter box.  Interesting.

A therapist once told me I should respond with, "well that's interesting" when I was screamed and yelled at and accused of being a terrible person.  "That's just not something I would say," I told her at the time, because it wasn't.  I found none of it interesting then and still don't.

When someone tells me something is interesting I wonder if their life is really that boring, or why they're afraid to say what they really think.  Take the lady today for instance.  She clearly didn't like my top or she would have called it something other than interesting.  I like her, she's very sweet and nice.  She doesn't say what she means but then I already knew that about her.

These days I handle the truth better than lies in disguise.  They're just irritating after forty.  Say what you mean or zip it.  Fleece in May is not fashionable, but I was cold.  Who cares?  I'll pull out the down vest next time, it's my favorite, see what she thinks.

The cat poop smelled rank, not interesting, screaming at me is unproductive not interesting and results in a dial tone.  My tops may be cute or hideous but I doubt there's an interesting one in the lot.  I wonder what else I can find interesting to talk about today?