I woke up with a headache. Not surprising. I've not been eating well, or enough, and I haven't been getting enough sleep and I'm feeling stressed. All I need is sugar to complete my list of triggers.
So I already broke a button off the coat I bought last week trying to unsnag my car door from the broken mirror that's been in the garage since we moved in. I have no idea how to get rid of it. Maybe next time large pickup comes through the area, I'll dump that. I need to check the schedule to find out when that is. I wish I could ask Molly to sew it on for me. I can do buttons, but never as well as they were before they came off. All those wasted years in home ec.
Then I went to the pharmacy to pick up the second half of my migrane meds script. I get there and I feel like I'm maintaining upright position through sheer force of will and the pharamcist, bless her heart, says to me, "Generic right?"
So I say, something stupidly, "They don't make generics in my [prescription] strength." Stupidly, because they could have, at any time, started making generics in my prescription strength. However, as it turns out, they don't.
She looked over the script and said, "You're right. These aren't long-acting." Then she frowns, and says, "They're also 80mg." She turns to the computer and starts trying to figure out while the hell they decided to substitute my 2 pills once a day with 2 pills twice a day. Meanwhile I close my eyes and start practicing standing up without the aid of the counter, which isn't a smashing success, although I don't fall over and embarass myself or anything drastic. I lean heavily and on the counter and start doing breathing exercises to bring the pain level in my head back to manageable and ditch the dizziness. She discovers a note that my doctor is supposed to call them to discuss prescription alternatives, so maybe the actual stuff I should be taking is on back-order. She calls the company. It's in stock. She orders some. Then she, just to be on the safe side, goes back and checks to see if they have any. They do. She is completely mystified. She offers the suggestion that maybe they filled the script before they got the drugs in. (This is not an unreasonable suggestion. They called me to let me know the drugs were ready Thursday. The drugs could have arrived Thursday afternoon, Friday or Saturday. It is a new bottle she opens.) She give me my drugs and I take myself off.
I strap myself into my car and drive off. While I'm driving past the ultimate Billerica speed trap, I'm assuring myself that if I get pulled over (I'm not speeding, so there would be no reason to stop me, but apparently this is all I can think about...) I can explain something that will justify me not wearing a seatbelt. At some point during this mental dialogue I notice that I actually AM wearing a seatbelt. So I continue on to the gas station much relieved about the prospect of being pulled over for something I'm not doing.
I get to the gas station and the the attendant starts asking me about my work. (I have a company parking sticker on my car.) He clearly knows something about The Company beccause he asks knowledgeably whether I work in Billerica or Cambridge. I explain that I'm on my way to work to finish up a project. He nods understandingly, big deadlines. He asks what the proejct is. So I tell him big sofwtare release. So he asks what hardware I support. So I repeat that I actually work for the software division. (If you are thinking this is big corporate secrets, I'm telling, I don't think it's an industry secret that we're planning a release for the end of the year.) Then I explain that I write documentation. He is delighted. Apparently mechanical engineers like documentation. Who knew? (I should probably mention at this point that my gas station is a full-service garage.)
And now back to work.
You're probably wondering what the title of this post has to do with the substance of it.
She saw him standing in the section marked
"If you have to ask, you can't afford it" lingerie.
She threw him bread and said, "Make me scream!"
In the dark, what could he say?