TITLE: If Life Were Fair
It starts on a Monday. The End of My Life.
So here I am, doing nothing, AKA shopping in the women’s section of JC Penney with my mom, who’s still a child at heart when it comes to fashion.
“Look, Bernie,” she says, holding up a shirt. “Doesn’t this bring out my eyes?”
“What doesn’t?” My mom has these great, big blue eyes that are always smiling. “Why don’t you try it on?” I suggest.
“Wait.” She disappears and returns with the same blue shirt. “We should be matching! Here, try on yours, too.”
I take it, internally groaning. Ew. It’s a bright, floral blouse in that all-the-rage see-through style—chiffon they call it. Totally not my thing, but to make her happy, I head over to the fitting rooms.
“Just in and out,” I mutter to myself, stepping over piles of clothes on the ground.
I hate fitting rooms. My mom thinks I’ve gotten over my mirror problem, but I haven’t truly. And I don’t plan on telling her anytime soon. Part of strength is keeping certain issues to yourself. Else, this world would be a big spew-pot of everyone’s problems.
In my haste to avoid seeing myself in the mirrors, I forget to do the whole Peek-Under-For-Feet stint. The first door I come to opens easily. I start to enter.
Well, hello naked person.
“What the hell?”
It slips out my mouth before I even have a chance to process the situation.