Eventful For The Last Day In November
I was told again that I look exactly like someone in a painting today, this time by my Directing professor. She was starting the class and glanced over at me sitting there, without my coat on, in my brown polyester jacket from Just’In’s grandma, my Shakespeare-like striped and bleach-splashed shirt, dark jeans, boatshoes, and pigtails, and commented such, then had me stand up in front of the class (which I had absolutely no qualms about) so the rest of the class could agree with her. They did agree because she was thinking of a specific painting and a specific figure, but I didn’t write it down when I sat back down. I’ve felt pleased about it all today, though.
Also, on my entering my apartment complex to grab my notes I’d forgotten that morning for my presentation later that evening, there was a girl there who had a couch in the common area who was asking everyone who passed through, “Do you want a couch?” I thought it was funny just because of its randomness, but soon became disgusted at her as I watched her (from the bus stop) talk on her cell phone and battle her car alarm as it kept going off while she tried to open the car and again as she was rearranging stuff in her trunk. She’d given the couch to my neighbor, but the car alarm disgusted me because of several things: 1. If you don’t know how to handle your own car alarm adeptly, you shouldn’t have one. 2. She looked like a student. It’s a tiny car. There seemed to be no plausible reason for a car alarm on her car. Car alarms are for people who have expensive equipment installed in their car and/or who live in a dangerous place, not students who don’t own much of value. 3. If you’re talking on your phone and your alarm does go off, hang up, deal with it with two hands, and then call them back. Don’t stand there at your open trunk, with your cell phone to your ear and your alarm going off. You look ridiculous.
And finally, I was chatting with a guy who had just bought groceries on the bus ride home, commenting about how milk is a pain to carry home, and he asked me suddenly, “Do you have a boyfriend?” I kindly told him I had a husband, and he said, “Oh.” I understand wanting to clarify the whole taken-or-not-taken status here, but it sure kills any other desire for conversation. This reminds me a quote by Fay Weldon, who I’m doing a presentation on tomorrow: “When a woman speaks, the audience cannot settle until they know whether she is married and whether she has children.”