Last week I broke a tooth. I baked a sweet potato and when I tried to eat the sweet potato, after buttering and salting it, the veneer on one of my comically awful front teeth came off – in one piece, thankfully, so I could put it in a ziploc and carry it in my pocket to the dentist, where a hygienist could look in my mouth and laugh, but still. A sweet potato broke my mouth.
A few days later I stepped on my glasses and snapped them clean in half, in a way I could not repair with super glue or any kind of tape I’ve known, and since then I have been wearing only my contacts, giving myself a persistent, low grade headache that gets worse as the day progresses, no matter how much news I do not consume, no matter how closed my office door, no matter how quietly I tune my music. By the end of the day I can neither see well nor think clearly and I’m in bed by nine, which would really be cramping my style if I had any.
More than once recently, someone has knocked on my door well past “too late for a stranger to be knocking on my door” pm, when I’m in the living room in my pajamas, on the couch in front of the window facing the street. The window hung with curtains a person parked on the street could see through. And by “in my pajamas” I mean “bra-less in a union suit” (it’s cold, okay, and I like to make myself laugh) and if I was the kind of person likely to answer a door without any kind of advanced warning of an impending knock, you better believe I wouldn’t be answering a door wearing that, and in order to put on something else, I’d have to get up and, well, run, but with the see through curtains and the vehicle parked in front of the window and the stranger on the porch and the front door between my living room and all of my clothes…
I’m not the kind of person who’d answer the door, by the way. I grew up in a house where everyone but my father very much did not answer doors, and my father wasn’t home much, and not only that, I’m the kind of person with a lingering fear of most people, and that fear extends easily to people who knock on my door without telling me they’re coming to knock on my door and maybe that’s a totally normal thing to do! I don’t know! I’ll never find out because everyone who knows me knows to text me and tell me they’re going to do it.
(They don’t call. I don’t answer phone calls, either. Not unless I get a text telling me my phone’s gonna ring.)
(I’m kidding. I got over that.)
Would you believe me if I said my car broke down last week, too? Because it did. It’s fixed, though, and I’m buying blinds.
Blinds I’ll keep closed, of course, so I can run from the couch to my bedroom and not answer the door without being seen, hopefully.