My Little Blue Dress (35 page)

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Note to editor. Hello! Can you . . . can you please set the preceding paragraph in a different typeface? I cannot do it myself because, as you know, I am writing this with a pen. Plus I am an old woman!

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I'm not actually telepathic. I just can't speak. So I pulse.

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Thirty seconds to exit the bedroom, plus a minute to cross the kitchen's checkered linoleum, plus thirty seconds negotiating the little step up into the living-room area, plus another minute and a half in conga formation as Bruno maneuvers me around the electric bed and the television set and the nasty green armchair into the bathroom.

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He put me to bed before leaving for work.

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I always perk up at commercials for portable computers, possibly because I covet one so badly. It makes me feel really
old-fashioned
writing out “July 8th—Thursday . . . July 9th—Friday” by hand when I could just touch a button and generate a whole summer's worth of dates in a nanosecond and then just fill them in . . . fill them in . . .

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's Imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

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