THE MORNING AFTER

Wake up Mary!

You are not the center of the universe!

After The Week-End Exhibition at The American Cathedral, I felt free to do silly things, like laundry, returning a stove top that didn't heat hot, and readjusting to not being so important. 

Starting with the easiest task, I headed off to Darty  with my two burner electric plate in its original box and bag. The ten minute walk was long enough to rehearse the confrontations I was anticipating.

Somehow, I thought it was my fault, but was  confident in Darty's "contract de confiance".

I had returned the same model two months before for a similar  under-heating problem.  It was an upstairs-downstairs-stand-in-line-procedure. 

Again, I was going to have to tell them that I couldn't boil water, which in some language, I can't remember which, means that you're an idiot. But, even an idiot knows that macaroni don't cook in luke-warm water. 

First step, was the return desk downstairs.

I waited fifteen minutes with that director on the phone with an irate customer. I could hear her voice blah-blah-blah from his phone. Loud and cranky. 

"Why doesn't he  just tell her that she's right and he's sorry?"  I thought and get on with it or me.

Finally, her time ran out. 

My turn.

I learned that it was "normale" that my hot plate didn't heat hot and I could replace it.

He gave me the necessary papers.

Upstairs, I was happy to see that the former aloof nineteen-year-old snobby salesgirl had been replaced. The new one, a very tall young woman with bad posture was in conversation with another customer. She was holding her hand on her chest.

I first took it as a sincerity gesture.

When my turn came, she smiled and said "Bon Jour."

She seemed refreshingly sweet - sort of with a smile and an ear of a pastor.

She continued to hold her hand on her chest during our conversation.

I asked her if she was in pain.

She said "Yes."

Next extraordinarily impolite question I asked was

"Are you pregnant?"

She said "no". 

So not heart-burn.

Her pain came from "une ulcère."

She then, encouraged me to buy an upscale model hot plate.

She said that they had had many returns with the one I had first chosen.

"Then, why don't they stop selling them?"

"I don't know." she said still holding her chest.

"Have you seen a doctor?" I asked.

She said, "Yes."

Then, I remembered my ulcer story and told her.

About twenty-five years ago, I had an ulcer in the same place. 

I saw a specialist. Then a homeopath. I changed my diet then

my doctor. Late one night there was a knock at my door. 

I was living in New York at the time.

It was a former boyfriend that had up and left me to marry  "the perfect woman."

I told him that he couldn't come in. He pleaded and announced that his marriage was over.

I finally relented telling him only because it might be good for the ulcer pain and put my hand on my chest. He said,"You have a pain, too?"

She was nodding waiting for the outcome. 

The ulcer went away, but so did I and came back to Paris.

My new stove top is working well. Hot. Hot. Hot.

Painting from India water color series "Bombay" 1976

Fugi photo colors on Canson.