Confessions of a Curious Bookseller(37)
You did not answer my question about the pants.
Butterscotch
Jan 11, 2019
If anything happens to me and anyone (particularly family) comes across my journal and decides to violate my privacy, I encourage and urge you to stop reading at this moment. Do not continue. Shut the book. Perhaps burn it? I would be eternally grateful. It’s not that I have many great secrets or that you will come across a horrible truth that you hadn’t known about me. In fact, my life is both dull and full: two qualities that ensure an incredibly boring journal.
I am extremely disappointed in my Christmas gifts, but that is par for the course once you hit your fifties and stop consorting with family on a regular basis. Having a life tends to lead one to this fate.
I think my Christmases may have been better had I been given a brother and not a sister. Men tend to give money as gifts, are far less apologetic, and waste very little time in stores hunting for the right thing only to settle on the dreadful 50 percent off bin with the fluffy hats and the self-help books.
It would have also been nice to have a brother because ever since I was a little girl, I have wanted to be a Caddy to someone. I have always loved the character from The Sound and the Fury, though I don’t believe it was Faulkner’s aim to create a female character that young girls could look up to. It was less what Caddy did and more her absence that interested me, as well as her brothers’ fascination with her and her untouchable beauty—untouchable mostly because it was so hard to see. She is in the book so little, although the entire story revolves around her. Her brothers are absolute worshippers of her whether they like it or not, and worship they do, mostly because she is absent! And here I am: the absent daughter whom nobody knows is gone. I have always been the capable older sister, while Florence floundered through life like a rag doll, yelping and crying at the first sign of trouble. Once, my family accidentally left me behind on a camping trip. I wandered through the woods and pretended I was a beaver before they found me a few hours later, chewing on a stump. That was me: self-sufficient Fawn. You see, it didn’t take long for me to adapt to my new environment, not unlike the character Buck in The Call of the Wild. Truth be told, I was rather disappointed when they found me.
After the holidays, life is as dull as ever. The world turns gray, and people stop being nice to each other because there are no more gifts to open. No more surprises. Some people need the promise of a reward.
The issue with Mark and the Grumpy Mug is escalating. The other day he invited me to his gala, as if he really wants me there! And that holiday card that he had all his employees sign. He must be doing rather poorly to kiss butt as much as he does. I have no intention of ever setting foot in that awful place, but I will say that when I walk by and glance in from across the street, there are many people there. However, I know it is only because they sell coffee and beer—a clever trick all the same, and so I say touché. I know my Folgers probably won’t stand a chance against his organic, fair trade, arabica hippie sludge, but I suppose it’s better than nothing. If I charge a dollar a cup, I’ll be bringing in more money, and it won’t cost me nearly a thing since it will be stuff from my kitchen that I already own. I’ll just have to buy some sugar and powdered creamer. Everyone knows it’s the smarter choice since it lasts longer.
The Mark Twain event is the thing—the way I vanquish him, once and for all. I can sell as much coffee as I would like or make a multitude of posters, but what will really wreck him is if my event is a success. I will advertise, and I will garner such interest that by the night of my event, he will be shaking in his Converse shoes and I will finally have the money I need to fix or replace my heating system. (Due to the space heaters, my electric bill has risen significantly.) In other news, Butterscotch has been ripping out his fur. I have been finding little tufts of hair throughout the store. Sometimes I wish cats were taken seriously enough that we could hire licensed therapists for them.
It snowed today! A little late since now no one is in the mood to shop—only to return unwanted gifts. By the way, I plan to try and exchange the awful socks at Target. As much as I hate the socks, every time I return a gift from my family I feel as if I’m giving up a piece of them, and it makes me sad. As I stand in line, I have to keep telling myself that it’s really nothing personal and that they are just bad at picking out gifts. They can’t help it. And to be honest, I’m always so busy with my business that I make it impossible for them to know what to get me. So there, that makes me feel better. Off to Target!
PHILLY LOVE FINDER
Dear Mr-Pants,
I am so looking forward to dinner! So that you will recognize me, I will be wearing a purple dress and a blue silk scarf with small golden chariots on it. Though . . . I may wear a black skirt and a green silk blouse with the blue scarf. Either way I will have the silk scarf. It was a gift from Paris, so I think it makes me appear quite worldly. You be the judge!
See you then.
Sincerely,
Butterscotch
PHILLY LOVE FINDER
Dear Mr-Pants,
Did you fall ill? We were supposed to meet at the restaurant at six, but you were nowhere to be found! I figured you were running a little late, so I went inside out of the cold and waited on that velvet bench by the door for twenty minutes, but you still never showed up. Meanwhile the door kept opening as more people arrived, and each time I suffered a horrible blast of air with which my silk scarf could not contend. There was one instance when I thought it was you, for a tall man in a black coat hurried in as if he was late (and he resembled you, strongly). He stopped, looked down at me where I was sitting, and let out a horrid chuckle before turning red in the face, pulling out his cell phone, and walking out the door. Surely that couldn’t have been you because you would have said something upon recognizing the silk scarf. Perhaps an apology for being so late? I believe this man had the wrong restaurant, for there are two side by side on this street—a worry I had until I verified the name of it (I had it written on a piece of paper).