It was very good luck that Slim should stop by my apartment this morning, as I was in a panic at having found a mouse with its tail stuck to a glue trap, somehow wedged between the wall and a fancy jar of Italian tuna. Since my handling of the situation had amounted to crying, wailing, and trying to will myself to behead it with the new Samurai-technology chef's knife, his arrival was a boon. He detached the tail, washed it, and carried the mouse in a jam jar to the nearby park, where it will obviously die within hours.
Yesterday GK4, former fiance, stopped by the shop, looking like he was keeping a big secret, although I think he wasn't. Couldn't go to work, he said, because he had no hot water.
"What's that on your chin? A cut?" he said to Liz.
"No, it's a pimple," she said.
"Oh. You could use some cover-up," he said.
Sunday night, we had a goodbye dinner for my uncle at the local pizzeria (mobbed, as it was recently voted "best" by NY Mag.) I allowed Slim to come, and there was minimal spaciness. My parents even bestowed a lukewarm "he's very nice." I acted like a bratty termagent in, I guess, an effort to make the whole world look better by comparison. I pouted, I screamed, I picked fights with everyone. Oh, and I wept.