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March 11, 2003 the optician's third eye "They're a little crooked."  With unseeing eyes, the optician stared at a spot somewhere on my forehead.  She had a hand on each stem of my eyeglasses.  "Maybe I'm a little crooked," I replied slyly.  I get rakish when I'm bored. "Everybody has one ear lower than the other," proclaimed the optician.  "It's one of God's little jokes."  She took the glasses off my face and inspected them closely. "Well, I can tell you...what's your name there?  Janine?  I can tell you, Janine, God is fuckin' slaying me.  Really.  Killer material." Janine looked up or, at least, I think she did.  She had my glasses and I was flying blind.  But I smelled disappointment and made note it smelled like dirty laundry. "I'd prefer you didn't use such language."  There was no inflection in her voice.  "To tell the truth, Janine, I'd prefer it too.  I truly would.  It just slips out sometimes." Janine returned the glasses to my face, stepped back, and resumed staring at my forehead.  "Okay, then," she said. "Everything's straight.  No hard feelings." I wanted to kiss her on the lips.  But I held back, afraid I'd ruin her work.

©  2003 by the beastmaster