3:00pm:
“Awww… I don’t want to go to my client’s house at 3:30.”
“Stop thinking that. You know you have to go. You blew him off on Tuesday because your stomach was upset.”
“But I’m tired…”
“And you’re ditching him next week when mom is in town.”
“I could just go home and sleep…”
“AND I'm going to be away for the entire week after that. I can’t miss that much. Besides. I'm a little scared of his mom, remember?”
“Oh yeah. Right.”
5:00pm:
“I don’t want to go to my next client’s house… It’s all the way up in Tiburon and the traffic’s terrible!”
“Well, I could call her and reschedule for this weekend…”
“Yeah! I shouldn’t be expected to drive an hour and a half to a student’s house… that’s too much.”
“I agree. BUT. If I don’t go tonight, I'll have to work more this weekend. And I'm already working from 9am to 3:30pm.”
“But this traffic is horrible. Damn A’s game. Why did they have to let out right at rush hour?”
“Ok, I’ll just go to my client’s house. All I have to do is sit here and listen to the radio until the traffic starts moving again.”
5:30pm:
“Let’s take the back way. There’s going to be a lot of traffic on the main route.”
“Yeah, it’s prettier that way too. There’s a great view of the bay and San Quentin and the fancy houses on the hill.”
5:45pm:
“Shit. That’s why I never take this route. It takes forever.”
“I know. This road just goes on and on! It’s so… Watch out for the deer!”
“Damn. That was a big deer. Interesting how these big creatures just wander around. They’re like giant rats.”
“Just concentrate on the road, please. OK. Look. Here we are. See it was worth it to come all this way. Look how beautiful it is here. I’d drive three hours just to get here.”
“Yeah… I hope she’s not mad that I’m late…”
“Uh, Miss Insecurity, can you just shut up for a little while?”
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.”
No kidding. This is a picture of my student’s house I found on the architect’s website.
There’s a history to today’s title: When anonymous mom and I were little, we used to spend hours and hours playing with my dollhouses. We’d decorate the houses, name all the little plastic dollhouse people, and then make them live out family life. Occasionally, I’d get a little TOO into some little drama I’d created between my dollhouse people. I’d sit there on my bedroom floor, acting out the parts for all the family members. After a few minutes of uninterrupted dialogue, anonymous mom would look over and stare at me. “Uh, Havin’ a little conversation with yourself there Juniper?” she’d ask dryly.
2 comments:
LOL!!!
Also, BTW, it looks like that house has a lot of "modern art" in it!
HA!
I love it! Actually, her parents are art dealers! Most of their art is really good... especially this odd Meso-american portait in the living room that looks JUST like Bob Dylan.
BTW, "modern art" is what we used to call the random pieces of Fisher Price toys that would migrate into the dollhouse furniture box.
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