They say that diamonds are a girl's best friend, but even jewels like those can lose themselves and break a woman’s heart.
For five years or so, I thought my therapist was my best friend. She was an older Indian gal, one of those immigrants I suppose. I never asked but that red dot stared at me throughout every one of my sessions with her.
Then one day the government had one of those budget shutdowns, you know the one where Social Security and Medicare payments don’t go out, and for a few months Dr. Ansari wouldn’t see me let alone listen to me complain about all my troubles.
I had another one of my nervous breakdowns, you know the ones where you break out in hives on your stomach and shingles on your toes. I decided that I couldn’t afford another one of those mishaps, and – just like a family member you get into one too many political arguments with – I never saw her or that red dot again.
I used to tell her, “People are too fickle. I never knew a one that would stick for long.” I think it must be something in the water or some bunch of overreaching teachers in our schools. Or the population must be off their medications or something.
It must be in the last two months or so I discovered that it’s not the diamond that’s the best friend, no, but the store that’s selling them. They make you feel all nice and cozy when you walk in, greet you and a pleased to meet you. Sometimes they even got free coffee or juice, but not in the jewelers, they tend to be on the cheap side even though it costs you a kidney to buy one of their gems.
There’s no better therapy I say than walking into the nearest Kohl’s and clearing the shelves. Well, after the first of the month, at any rate. I’m usually broke by the fifteenth.
~the end~
Image: Flickr
Image: Sipa
Image: RyanMcGuire
Image: Mali Maeder
