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© 2004-2008 Linda Escaip
"I may be grumpy, but I like you."
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The Suns and Moons of the Grumpiest Girl in the Room.
Welcome to my journal, dollface.
De-Lovely Delicious Delusion 10-Feb-2005 9:40 a.m.
You know how they say a crazy person has no idea they're crazy? I am certain I'm the exception, and why people are not writing lengthy essays on the subject, buying me cakes and teas during extensive interviews, is beyond my comprehension. It is a cruel thing, to know, because you miss out on the pleasure of delusion. I could use a few delusions, and I'm talking about hyper-positive, grandeur-stuffed delusions I have done without far too long. That might be a lovely change, but how to go about getting the ball rolling?
"Delusion Depot, this is Wanda—how may I help you?"
"Hello," I said gingerly into the phone. "I'd like to place an order, please."
"Alrighty, and how many will do ya today?"
"I'm sorry?"
"How many delusions would you like us to set up for you? You experience one delusion at a time, but you may order as many as you like in advance."
"Oh, probably just one to start, I think. And then I'll see how it goes." The cheery Wanda took my information, asked me a three-hour series of questions, and told me a driver would be at my home within 30 minutes or less or my delusion was free.
The first hour with my shiny new delusion was a bit disconcerting, as you might imagine. I was not accustomed to believing I was Queen of the Coin-Ops (they sent me the wrong delusion which was mistakenly marked with the name of the one I had ordered), and quite frankly did not know how to conduct myself in my home where there were no coin-operated washing machines or dryers. There are now, of course, having gone out and purchased a whole lineup, as well as rounded up an equal amount of people with dirty laundry to operate the machines while I flitted about and generally queened it up. You understand.
The folks at Delusion Depot have craftily placed within their delusion programs a 25 minute break, which begins on the third day once your delusion is good and set, and occurs daily thereafter at varying times, where someone like me who has been sent an incorrect delusion may come to their senses and call the frigging company to say, "Hello, but this is not my beautiful delusion." During the first break I tried calling them, but something was screwy with their phone lines so instead I called around to see where I might get a good deal on bulk laundry detergent, because I suspected I was going to start giving the shit away. It seemed Queen of the Coin-Ops was a rather charitable broad, as was evident by my empty refrigerator and pantry, and a few missing pieces of furniture. I called again during the next day's break.
"Delusion Depot, this is—" long pause, then reluctantly, "Wanda. How may I help you?"
"Hi, Wanda. I spoke with you the other day—"
"Ooh, I remember you, baby," she cooed into the phone. "Yeah, I'd remember that pretty voice anywhere. You been missing me, or what?"
"Are you alright?"
"Hey, I'm always alright, girl. You want to find out how alright I am? How 'bout Friday night? I'll pick you up and treat you like a real lady, 'cause I know what you need, and you haven't had any of that good stuff in a while, that's for sure. I can hear it in that pretty voice of yours. You're aching for it, baby, and I'm just the man to—"
The voice of a nervous woman cut in to inform me that Cheery Wanda had been slipped one of the Severely Bloated Male Ego With Lusty Side delusions by a disgruntled coworker the previous day. As with all the delusions, Wanda's would wear off within four to six weeks, about the time it takes to receive anything you buy from one of those television commercials where everything offered is $19.99 plus shipping and handling. She apologized for any inconvenience and explained that she could not help me at the moment due to a high volume of calls coming in—she being the only other available operator. "Get your hand off my ass," I heard her say as she handed the phone back to Wanda.
"Hey baby."
"Jesus. Look, I received the wrong delusion and I need to know what I can do to stop it."
"There's nothing you can do to stop it, much like my unstoppable bone. You just have to ride it out, if you know what I mean."
"So, for the next four to six weeks I'm stuck being Queen of the Coin-Ops? Who the hell orders such a delusion anyway?"
"Coin-Op owners. Which delusion did you miss out on, baby?"
"I don't want to tell you," I said in a low voice.
"Come on, you can tell daddy, sugar."
Remembering that it was really Cheery Wanda I was speaking with, I answered.
"Batman." There was silence. Then there was laughter. Obnoxious, snorty laughter.
"Woo! That is some funny shit; my sweet little angeltits wanting to be Batman."
"Oh, shut up. Look, if you send me the delusion I ordered, what will happen?"
"You'll be Batman: Queen of the Coin-Ops."
After hanging up with Wanda, I soon slipped back into my delusion, where I reigned supreme in my washer-and-dryer-infested home. Thankfully, I was one of the lucky ones who only had to wait four weeks to resume their regular existence. Two weeks later I received a long letter of apology from Wanda, which I torched after reading, at her request. And incidentally, I have a date with her Saturday night.
Well, I have very little time left on today's 25 minute break. Yeah, even after my first strange experience, I opted to give Delusion Depot another try (free of charge due to the mix-up). In about a minute and a half I'm going to be absolutely certain I do indeed have readers. I hope this delusion lasts the whole six weeks.
Thanks for reading.
Linda
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