Don't Worry, Be Happy

Je suis tres jolie. Tres tres jolie. That's saying something today because today was a not-good-post-operative day. But if you live long enough, you can live through just about anything and thankfully I was only tortured and depressed MOST of today, this evening things improved.

Why, you ask? Oh, intrepid reader, really, you make me blush!

I am happy because I remembered my birthday is this week Yeah, I sent out a bulletin to my friends, but it sank in today. I'm having a birthday. And the visigoth is determined I should have a GOOD birthday so he dragged me out of the house for a short excursion and despite being sore, depressed, scared and generally introverted, I ended up with a perfect black trench coat! Did you see it coming? I didn't see it coming! Amazing! Mon Dieu!!!!

Well, I did just try to find a pic of my new full-length black trench but no one has it. Incidentally, I was cruising some party dresses and there was a cute-ish frock by Jessica McClintock that looked like another dress I have by Roxy something-or-another and I pointed it out to the Visigoth and he said "Yeah, I used to like a scent by her" and I said I'd never heard her name before and we dropped it.

But the Visigoth is a fashionisto! WHO KNEW!!!!???? I knew he was too comfortable when I took him to the private tailor to have suits made. We are so happy together, it's ridiculous. I can't wait to see him in a black suit with pencil thin cerulean blue pinstripes...oooooh, naughty!!!!

Let's see what that minx Claire is up to:

" 'So...what can I do for you?' Claire struggled to keep her eyes open and her mouth from hanging down.
'It's okay, Claire, you can goggle if you want to.' The Joker was nothing if not polite.
'Ta. I'll be okay.' She feigned comfort when really all she wanted was to toss the tea cozy over his head and bolt out of the back door. Belatedly she realized he knew precisely what she was fantasizing on doing.
'It's understandable, Claire. Really. Sorry to drop in on you like this, but...'
The pause was unbearable. Then Claire understood why he'd stopped speaking. Her dog, Mr. Sniffles, had walked right past her at the table and was now whining in a heartbreaking wheeze near the front door where she recalled fainting.
'Oh...no...not that....I thought!' Clair couldn't find a way to finish the myriad thoughts scrambling through her mind.
'Yeah. Well. Thanks for the tea. I guess you'll be able to sort things out from here?' He rose and held out a hand as though expecting to clear the table or shake hands goodbye.
'WHAT DO YOU MEAN, I'LL BE ABLE TO SORT THINGS OUT FROM HERE?' Clair hadn't intended to yell, but this was a bit too much to digest. She was, if Mr. Sniffles wheezy whining was in indication, dead, and Death had disguised himself as the Joker to gain entry to her house and enjoy a fresh pot of tea and now was telling her she should be able to 'sort things out from here.'
It was, she decided, excessive expectation.
'Is there not a handbook, a flyer, a pamphlet you hand me at this point? I'm not seeing any lights and no friendly guide is ringing the spiritual doorbell here. Put your hand down!'
Claire sank more deeply into her chair. She'd had rude guests before, as a psychic one anticipates the odd shaky personality who hasn't a grateful bone in their body, but this was Death. Old as life itself, and arguably older. Why wasn't he more polite?
"Errr. Well. I'm new to the job. There wasn't much training and you're my first. Gosh look at the time, I've got to run, Claire, wishing you the best with all this and that...' His voice trailed away as he shifted from foot to foot, held in her unblinking gaze.