straight-faced.
This makes me laugh.
“You have a good laugh,” he tells me.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It’s supposed to mean you have a good laugh.”
I study him. Wondering if he’s trying anything funny.
“Relax, Jane. Have a bit of fun, will you?” he tells me. “Remember when you used to have fun?”
“I’m trying,” I say.
I don’t know if it’s the champagne at work, or if I’m actually enjoying myself. It’s hard to say exactly when I stop wondering why Kyle is being nice to me. At the end of the evening, he insists on parking, which in my neighborhood is anything but easy.
At my door, there’s an electrical charge in the air, and I can’t decide if it’s the champagne I ingested, or the fact that Kyle is flashing me one of his deliberately charming smiles. I’ve seen him use The Smile countless times on unsuspecting women. He reels them in with a smile, and then when he gives them the “it’s not you, it’s me” speech six weeks later, they never know what hit them.
“Aren’t you going to invite me up for coffee?” Kyle asks me, still smiling.
It occurs to me that Kyle actually is quite good-looking, if you go for cookie-cutter types. He looks like he’d be right at home in a Ralph Lauren ad.
“That’s pathetic,” I tell him. “You’re so used to girls fawning all over you that you aren’t even trying to come up with good lines anymore.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, pretending innocence.
“You know very well that most women, God knows why, find you attractive,” I say.
“Hmmmm,” he says, pretending to contemplate this concept. “Perhaps it’s my boyish good looks,” he jokes. He pauses. “So why is it that…you know.”
I smile, amused. “No, I don’t know.”
“That you never…”
“Yes?”
“Well…” He’s squirming. “…wanted to date me?”
I laugh.
“Your ego is entirely out of control,” I tell him. “You really think every woman should fall at your feet?”
“Only the really, really hot ones,” he says, flashing me his smile again.
I laugh harder, and give him a playful shove, which causes him to flail his arms in an exaggerated windmill and pretend he’s going to fall over.
“Good night,” I say, slipping through my door.
Illinois Department of Health and Human Services Office
Springfield, IL 62781
Jane McGregor
3335 Kenmore Ave.
Chicago, IL 60657
March 12, 2002
Dear Ms. McGregor,
We received your request for food stamps and are afraid that you do not qualify for them, despite, as you wrote, “being a single mother to your two-bedroom apartment’s appliances.” We appreciate the fact that should you receive food stamps you would not use them to buy “booze or drugs.”
However, with your unemployment benefits being what they are, and your lack of (human) dependents (we’re afraid roommates, no matter how annoying, don’t count), we have no choice but to reject your application for food stamps. Should you have further questions on this matter, or would like more information, please feel free to contact us.
Best,
Jane Miller
Associate Social Worker
Illinois Department of Health and Human Services
7
I am flat-out broke.
I have less than $10 in my bank account, which means that I can’t effectively get it out of any ATM, and because my bank charges me $5 to see a teller, I’d be essentially halving my meager savings if I go in person to collect it.
These are desperate times. I have two minimum credit card payments due and the electric company just sent me a bill in a pink envelope.
“Do you have any money I can borrow?” I ask Missy.
She snorts at me.
“Do I look like Bank of America to you?” she hisses at me, not looking up from my television set. My couch has a permanent imprint of her butt in it, which is only one of the many drawbacks of living with Missy.
Another happens to be that Missy claims to have severe allergies to dishwashing liquid. This is her
This makes me laugh.
“You have a good laugh,” he tells me.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It’s supposed to mean you have a good laugh.”
I study him. Wondering if he’s trying anything funny.
“Relax, Jane. Have a bit of fun, will you?” he tells me. “Remember when you used to have fun?”
“I’m trying,” I say.
I don’t know if it’s the champagne at work, or if I’m actually enjoying myself. It’s hard to say exactly when I stop wondering why Kyle is being nice to me. At the end of the evening, he insists on parking, which in my neighborhood is anything but easy.
At my door, there’s an electrical charge in the air, and I can’t decide if it’s the champagne I ingested, or the fact that Kyle is flashing me one of his deliberately charming smiles. I’ve seen him use The Smile countless times on unsuspecting women. He reels them in with a smile, and then when he gives them the “it’s not you, it’s me” speech six weeks later, they never know what hit them.
“Aren’t you going to invite me up for coffee?” Kyle asks me, still smiling.
It occurs to me that Kyle actually is quite good-looking, if you go for cookie-cutter types. He looks like he’d be right at home in a Ralph Lauren ad.
“That’s pathetic,” I tell him. “You’re so used to girls fawning all over you that you aren’t even trying to come up with good lines anymore.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, pretending innocence.
“You know very well that most women, God knows why, find you attractive,” I say.
“Hmmmm,” he says, pretending to contemplate this concept. “Perhaps it’s my boyish good looks,” he jokes. He pauses. “So why is it that…you know.”
I smile, amused. “No, I don’t know.”
“That you never…”
“Yes?”
“Well…” He’s squirming. “…wanted to date me?”
I laugh.
“Your ego is entirely out of control,” I tell him. “You really think every woman should fall at your feet?”
“Only the really, really hot ones,” he says, flashing me his smile again.
I laugh harder, and give him a playful shove, which causes him to flail his arms in an exaggerated windmill and pretend he’s going to fall over.
“Good night,” I say, slipping through my door.
Illinois Department of Health and Human Services Office
Springfield, IL 62781
Jane McGregor
3335 Kenmore Ave.
Chicago, IL 60657
March 12, 2002
Dear Ms. McGregor,
We received your request for food stamps and are afraid that you do not qualify for them, despite, as you wrote, “being a single mother to your two-bedroom apartment’s appliances.” We appreciate the fact that should you receive food stamps you would not use them to buy “booze or drugs.”
However, with your unemployment benefits being what they are, and your lack of (human) dependents (we’re afraid roommates, no matter how annoying, don’t count), we have no choice but to reject your application for food stamps. Should you have further questions on this matter, or would like more information, please feel free to contact us.
Best,
Jane Miller
Associate Social Worker
Illinois Department of Health and Human Services
7
I am flat-out broke.
I have less than $10 in my bank account, which means that I can’t effectively get it out of any ATM, and because my bank charges me $5 to see a teller, I’d be essentially halving my meager savings if I go in person to collect it.
These are desperate times. I have two minimum credit card payments due and the electric company just sent me a bill in a pink envelope.
“Do you have any money I can borrow?” I ask Missy.
She snorts at me.
“Do I look like Bank of America to you?” she hisses at me, not looking up from my television set. My couch has a permanent imprint of her butt in it, which is only one of the many drawbacks of living with Missy.
Another happens to be that Missy claims to have severe allergies to dishwashing liquid. This is her
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