Turns out it was neither a vampire nor a zombie that got a piece of me, but rather a nasty looking red tick that had burrowed its way underneath my skin and happily sucked on my less that chocolaty blood. Chocolates being my Achilles heel, much as the sun is to vampires due to the horrible tag: Diabetic type 2. This explains the fever and the body aches, but not the insomnia. Not the diabetes but the horrid insect that had managed to become part of my body without my say so.
“Whining again, dear?” She was back and I knew I would soon regret the fact that I hadn’t mentioned nor thought of her in more than a month! I would be happy to walk away alive with all my faculties intact. I peeked at her from below my thinning eyebrows. Who knew that once you hit 47 your eyebrows would thin and become grey? I would never have plucked them had I an inkling of what was in store. Now the question remains; to pluck or not to pluck the resilient grey hair which had only appeared on my right eyebrow and left me feeling unbalanced. But then again I was unbalanced before the errant hair made its appearance. The solution was simple; an appointment for a brow tint would have to be made and I would have to research whether they do eyebrow transplants like hair plugs for those who are challenged in the hair department. I simply would not resort to drawing them on with an eyebrow pencil and permanently looking like a surprised idiot, please don’t tell my mom I said so.
“Off on a tangent again are we?” she said, tapping her foot impatiently.
“I suppose so,” I mumbled incoherently.
“It seems you only write when you whine, dear. Agony Aunt or a case of misery likes company?” she asked.
“Neither”, I replied, feeling decidedly miffed.
“The past month has not been an easy one and where were you when I needed you?” I decided that offense was the best defense.
“Flimsy argument to say the least, dear,” she said looking at me over the ridiculous purple, heart shaped sunglasses that she wore. I looked at her, really looked at her and had to hide my laughter behind a wheezy cough.
Her wildly curly hair was teased and sprayed into submission. Not even a nuclear explosion would have moved it and I saw several bees lazily flying around the bee hive concoction. She was dressed in a pink polka dotted dress which flared from her middle in a vast canopy. It housed several troops of woolly monkeys judging from the screeches that could be heard when she moved. Her feet were enclosed in six inch patent leather, black pumps which I felt sure would stay afloat in a tsunami and harbor several bottle nosed dolphins. Her lips and nails were painted magenta and a piggy pink straw bag was draped around her arm. Of course there was costume jewelry in abundance, dangling hot pink earrings, strings of beads in orchid, lavender and tickle me pink and bold bangles in fuchsia and champagne pink. Add to that the aforementioned purple sunglasses and you see why I could not help but giggle. She looked like a pink flamingo in flight.
If the color pink does not exist why do we see it?