Let’s start with the four cupcakes I just ate. First of all, I have to make it very clear that this is not a normal occurrence. I haven’t had a cupcake since June when Smartest was here with her family and we decided to have a little dessert. But I’ve been having a terrible week and today was an even more terrible day, and I need comfort and support and none of my friends are available and I’ve learned the hard way never to trust anyone that I work with and I don’t have a significant other, so I sought comfort from a cupcake. Four cupcakes. Judge me. I dare you.
I was only going to have one, but they looked so good and I was really craving chocolate, so I decided to get two. But then I realized that I might be having a pity party tomorrow night as well, so I should just buy a couple of extras so that I don’t show up at the cupcake shop again tomorrow and really look pathetic and embarrass myself.
With my four cupcakes wrapped in their pretty pink package, I stroll slowly, casually back to Misora. If I run into anyone I know, I’ll simply explain that the cupcakes are a gift for a friend’s baby shower tomorrow.
What a beautiful September evening. Cool, but not cold. Perfect for a relaxing ramble around Santana Row. The closer I get to Misora, however, the less relaxing my pace seems to be. And then I see the people. Why? Why are there about a million people clustered around the entrance of my building just standing there talking and laughing and blocking my way and don’t they know I need to get in? Get out of my way, losers! Wait…no, Beatrice…breathe. It’s a beautiful Friday night, and I am not in a hurry. Those slow, lame-ass people blocking my doorway can loiter there as long as they want. No rush. They can stand there all day and…oh thank god. The a-holes moved. It was gonna get ugly up in here.
Why is this elevator interminably slow? I swear I’m gonna stop paying rent if they don’t do something about these stupid elevators! They remind me of the slow elevator in “Pillow Talk.” Great. Now I’m thinking about silly romantic comedies that I used to watch repeatedly with my sisters and we’d giggle and squeal and swoon and dream of our perfect man, and now not only am I thinking about how slow this elevator is moving, I’m also reminded that it’s a Friday night, I’m lonely, and I’m about to indulge in copious amounts of chocolate. Alone. My life sucks.