Re: We Got a Minefield of Crippled Affection.

Yesterday, in between writing a bit of this and that and hanging around Veniero's to pick up macaroons (I must be in some sort of depression because all I want is sex and macaroons, and ideally together), I had to go to CVS to pick up some pills. Fine; they were anti-depressants and really strong ones, too--OK?

So I'm at the CVS waiting in line to pick up my goods when the woman in front of me, who was a good size woman so one would expect her to be jolly (aka. me in 6 months if I keep up the macaroon thing), but she was not, starts yelling and screaming at the pharmacist.

Mouthy woman: "Eight-fifty! You tellin' me this here prescription is eight-fifty?! You fuckin' out of your mind?"

Pharmacist: "Yes, that's the amount and please don't use that language with me."

Mouthy woman: "Fuck you, bitch! You're ripping me off. I can't afford no eight-fifty! What do I look like to you? Some rich bitch?"

Being somewhat naive, I thought they meant 'eight-fifty' as in eight hundred and fifty dollars. You know, about the amount that one would spend on a proper pair of Jimmy Choos. But no...

Pharmacist: "Enough with the language. It's eight dollars and fifty cents and that's what you have to pay after Medicaid covers the rest."

Mouthy woman: "No way! I can't afford that! Not this week, you better put that back and I'll come back when I can *afford it."

After I paid for my prescriptions that were far more than $8.50, I called my mother to relay the story. I do this from time to time because A. I fancy myself quite a storyteller; B. I call her everyday anyway; and C. I needed her emotional support after witnessing such an event.

I made my mother promise me that no matter what happens in my life, I will never regard $8.50 as "too much." She said she couldn't make that promise, but had I been a giving person, I would have stepped forward and bought the woman her prescription.

Mom: "It would have been the decent thing to do."

Me: "Why? It's not my problem she can't afford it. I can't afford lots of things. You don't see me asking anyone for help." (complete and utter lie, of course, and my mother, who financially supports me in many ways, knows it.)

Mom: "Is your mouth full? What are you eating?"

Me: "Mom, I'm having some sort of breakdown after that shitshow... I had to stop and get Italian pastries on the way home."

Mom: "And how much did you spend on these pastries?"

Me: "They were like $25... what's your point?"

Mom: "The point is... oh, where oh where, did I go wrong with you?"

*it should be noted she did buy $10 or so in pretzels and gummi bears. #priorities

xo.Mandy.

And now the terrifying results of listening to "Memories of You" by Ryan Adams on repeat:

new Pomegranate Seeds: Ersatz.