Friday, May 20, 2005

How to dress for war

I forgot about a dentist appointment yesterday. For the second time. I've missed the same appointment twice.

This morning I woke up, realized it, and was racked with guilt and horror. After phoning my dentist to apologize, again, I drove to Main St and ordered a bouquet from the Flower Factory to be sent to their office. Well done, me. Instant absolution!

In case it isn't clear from the above paragraph, I loathe myself. I consider myself a turd.

I should have been raised Catholic.

4 comments:

S said...

You must have a nice dentist, because if I miss an appointment they make me pay for it regardless.

The flowers are classy. I think you forgot an appointment we made, Claire, like, three times. Where's my flowers?

Do you have an agenda? Is that a stupid question?

kimikimikimi said...

You could do what Sachi does in times of intense accusation: lie. For instance, when she went to go pick up the sewing machine six months after it had been dropped off, she told the very angry lady ("this isn't a place of storage!") that the reason I had not come to get was that I was dead.

(It had been my task to drop it off and her's to pick up. Did I misuse that apostrophe?)

S said...

Oh god. I'm still laughing about that, now. What a ridiculous thing to lie about.

Claire said...

The closest I've come to that brilliant ploy was when I took my car to the fancy, full-serve gas station near Marian's parents' house and the irritable middle aged attendent lectured me on letting my oil tank get completely empty. I told him, in the manner of a weary mother of five, that the car was borrowed, hoping that it made me sound less spoiled. I even came up with an whole story in my head about how the friend I borrowed it from was really the spoiled one, and I was always having to put up with her disorganized and ireverent lifestyle, (she would always be forgetting dentist appointments, for example) but I was always there for her, even so, to take her car into the fancy full-serve gas station and pay for her oil refill with my meager wages.

Despite the method acting behind my excuse, the attendent continued to glower as he changed the oil. He didn't buy it. I should have just told him Kimi was dead. That always works.