Page 22 of Love Lessons
Can we call it progress if my recurring dream has let me sleep in a little before waking me up in a cold sweat?
I throw my legs over the side of the bed and walk through my living room. My furniture arrived yesterday. There are still boxes stacked against the walls, and my electronics aren’t plugged in yet. But the place is starting to look livable.
My coffee machine was the last thing I unpacked last night, and I have the satisfaction of walking into the kitchen and merely flipping the switch to get it going.
The grinder starts doing its thing, and I feel a little better. There are some messages on my phone, so I wander over to my sofa to read them. There’s one from the PR department, checking in on me, but I’m too grumpy to answer it. I flip to the far more interesting messages. There’s a series of them from my neighbor, Vera.
This is a surprise.
I tap on the Play button I use for text to speech and listen to what she has to say.
Ian, you will probably think that I am some kind of obsessive freak, but I have done some research on the chemicals they spray on new clothes. I still feel bad about giving you an allergic reaction.
I bought that shirt because I thought the color would make your eyes pop. But I did not mean for that to happen literally.
That cracks me up. This woman is hilarious.
You can learn anything on the internet. Did you know that many new fabrics are treated with formaldehyde to prevent mildew during shipping? I did not. In other words, most clothes are slightly toxic to humans, at least before that first wash.
Also, when a shirt says 100% cotton that might not include the thread it was sewn with. Isn’t that weird? Maybe it’s because designers can’t do math.
Anyway, I learned a lot that I didn’t know before. If I ever have a client who is sensitive to fabrics, I’ll know more about how to handle it. So thank you.
And please accept my apology for giving you a rash. In general men seem allergic to me so you’d think I’d be used to it by now.
See you in Italy! —V
I dictate a response:Hey countess, I told you not to worry about it. Just be glad you’re not the team’s equipment manager. Dude has to wash my new jerseys a couple times before I can wear them. PS: want a ride to the airport? I’m hiring a car.
Then I spell-check the hell out of the text and hit send.
She answers almost immediately.
Vera: I’d love to share a car. Are you all packed?
Ian: Packed? We don’t leave for 48 hrs. If you’re a guy, packing takes fifteen minutes.
Vera: What? Men like to SAY they can pack in fifteen minutes. But then they forget things. They borrow your toothpaste and your shampoo, and they buy a bathing suit at the airport.
Ian: I don’t know what guys you travel with, but hockey players are excellent at packing. You can keep your girly shampoo. Ten bucks says you’re the one who brings a suitcase the size of a coffin but also forgets something crucial.
Vera: Don’t throw shade on a woman’s luggage! I needallthese shoes. I don’t wear bikinis, but I packed five bathing suits and two cover ups. Plus, I heard something about yoga, so I need workout clothes. And the opera means an evening dress and a wrap.
Ian: A wrap?
Ian: Wait, never mind. If you explain it, I’ll just forget. Feel free to bring your tiniest bathing suits, though. Have your coffin ready by 7pm.
Vera: If you promise not to mock the size and number of my bags, I will be there. But if you are going to be snarky about it, I will get my own lift.
Ian: I won’t make fun of your luggage. Not out loud. And I will carry it for you.
Vera: That won’t be necessary. I’m a big girl. And my luggage has wheels.
Ian: Men don’t let women lift their own luggage into the cab, countess. That is just the way it is. Meet me outside.
Vera: I will be there. Thank you, Ian.
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