I was just minding my business in line at CVS, picking up an Rx. As usual, they were taking way too long. I reached over to the magazine rack and grabbed “Washingtonian.” I was flipping through and caught an article profiling some women in D.C. Something caught my eye as soon as I opened the magazine.
A woman, with a somewhat foolish version of my first name, sitting on a couch, next to a dog.
First thought: Why it is that a grown adult woman will take my name and dumb it down to something sounding like it belongs on a grade schooler?
Second thought: Hey. C moved in with a girl who allegedly shares my first name, and uses this childish version as her name. Funny that there are two of them running around.
Third thought: Someone told me this woman has a dog of the same breed sitting here in this very picture.
Final thought: She’s sitting on a couch. I know that couch. It’s the couch he and I had sex on, many many times. And here it is. In Washingtonian Magazine. I looked at that picture for a very long time. Why her? Why her and not me?
Too bad I was very much in love with him, otherwise this may bother me much less than it does right now.