One of the companies that shares our office is run by a man named Temp. “Were your parents expecting a more permanent child to come along later or something?” I asked, but weirdly he did not think this was very funny.
There is a conference of math teachers meeting here this week and the hipster-looking one told me I always look despondent, except he didn’t use that word because he teaches math, not English. I’m dismayed to hear it because I try to give the impression of being a cheerful, slightly vacant girl, which encourages people not to give me too many things to do at one time. Apparently I’m coming off as sullen instead. I had my revenge, though. We got to talking about books and I confessed I am in the middle of yet another volume of Anais. “Anais Nin,” he exploded. “That woman couldn’t write her way out of a house of cards. She used adjectives like other people use nouns.”
“She was my grandmother,” I said. For the first time ever, a hipster turned beet.
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