Not a slightest bit of fuzz

Lately something really weird has been going on. It left me confused, perplexed, and I have no rational explanation for any of it. Perhaps the Apocalypse in nearing or something has been slipped into the New York City’s water.

For some reason, wherever I go, someone calls me “honey” or “sweetie.” And I am not talking about someone who has meaning in my life, because then I just feel all fuzzy inside; I mean people at the deli, the cashier at Duane Reade, random person asking me for directions to Fordham. And there are definitely no fuzzy feelings on my part. I cannot explain this at all because usually I look like crap and most of the time, I am pissed off at some moron who cannot get out of the way quickly enough. Lately, thanks to the never ending papers that are all due in the next two weeks, I look double crappy and triple exhausted. Yet the other day, a guy behind the counter at a deli gave me a cup of steaming hot peppermint tea and said: “here you go, sweetie.” I am sure I rolled my eyes and then when I turned toward to cashier, she said: “would you like a bag for you tea, honey?” I don’t know, maybe the guy behind the counter and the cashier lady had some lovin’ the night before but then a few weeks ago, a cashier at Duane Reade called me “sweetie” when I thanked her. Since the deli and the Duane Reade are fairly far apart from each other, I doubt there was any sort of a connection between all three.

On top of this, all of the sudden, once or twice a day someone asks me for directions. And I checked, there isn’t a sign anywhere on my body that encourages people to ask me for directions. I remember a few years back, someone was telling me that I don’t look very approachable and that I need to smile more. I told that person that I am fine with not being approachable. So if I am not that approachable and I am not all smiles, why are all these people asking me for directions?

I am sure this makes sense to people in the South or Midwest or something but in New York, it just doesn’t make sense.

Enough of procrastination. I wish papers wrote themselves.