because she’s got her own issues.
Which I understand because I get consumed by hormonally induced insecurities but I swear, these days I’m listening to my former mirror and it’s jarring, understandable and kinda hilarious.
Me: I can’t fit into my jeans. Any of them. I’ve gained like 10 pounds since yesterday.
Him: That’s impossible. You did not gain 10 pounds.
Me: It feels like it and I still can’t fit into anything. I’m crazy bloated.
Him: No, just crazy.
Me: I look pregnant.
Him: Well, you’re not. You’re beautiful and aren’t you going to be late for work?
Me: I can’t find anything that fits! And I’m always late, which means I’ll be on time. I have to maintain the routine; otherwise it’ll confuse the work folks. Besides I can’t wear this. This would be a housecleaning outfit that I bet BF has already taken a secret blackmail picture of: yellow and orange striped knee-high socks, green leopard print underwear, some bizarre hand-me-down thermal crop top and weird mid-calf boots. I do this. Cleaning is way more fun when I play some deranged version of dress up.
Him: Huge eye-roll, big smirk. Dammit, he did take a photo…so fucking opportunistic.
Me: Arrrghhh!!! I’m going to be so fucking late. Crapshitfuck!!! I hate this part of living in Tokyo. I’m always late because I’m not early. Since when is being on time late?!
Her: Do you see THIS?!!, pointing to her head.
Me: Huh? What are you talking about?
Her: Seriously? You don’t see it?
Me: Uh no…do you have something in your hair? Check the weather.
Her: Unbelievable. My hair was perfect and now it’s totally wrecked.
Me: What? It looks fine to me. I don’t get it. Crap, where’s the umbrella?
Her: This is sticking straight out, pointing at the same spot on her head. I look ridiculous. I can’t believe you were going to let me leave the house like that.
Me: Is she pointing to a curl?! I thought it looked all natural and purposely kinda messy. Really, I have no idea what she’s talking about; I don’t see it. Why don’t you pin it? Snacks! Pack snacks.
Her: Because that would look even more ridiculous.
Me: Okaaay…ponytail? Ready! Gotta run.
Her: Totally unimpressed eye-roll and…sliding tatami room door.
I believe I have been (r)ejected from this conversation.
Great, are we both PMS-ing?