As of yet, this novel has no title, no plot and no genre. I will not be proofreading extensively until after it is done, but I try to keep things coherent. Enjoy.
There was always one spot on her chin where the hair could be felt but not removed. It was like a prickly, bumpy reminder of age. But not really old age, because if she were old, the hair would have become thinner, or so she read, so this follicle was really a reminder that she was both too old and too young to be carefree and live without tweezers in her purse.
There was a new treatment where they froze the hair away. It seemed like they froze everything now. Fat, hair, moles. “One day we will all just be perfect figurines encased in cubes of ice,” she thought, but until then the ice hair removal was expensive and tweezers are cheap.
“What do you think, Joan?” The voice interrupted her meditation on facial hair and its implications for the zeitgeist. She hadn’t been paying attention, which was apparently evident because Ms. Foster never asked nor cared what she thought unless it was an opportunity to humiliate her. Not to say Ms. Foster had it in for her, specifically—she did it to everyone—but Joan made it too easy. “Perhaps the old bat wasn’t feeling well today,” Joan thought, “that she would go for such low hanging fruit.” Nope-no, not time for that now. Focus on crafting an answer that saves your dignity.
“Um...” Swing and a miss. “Ummmm, I think...I think that we should remember who the main client is here.” Total, utter nonsense, but Foster’s face showed no indication of interrupting. “Because...” Shit. What was the topic of this meeting again? Where is that agenda? She stretched out her back and casually paged through her tablet, past the gossip column she had open and her friend’s wedding page and the restaurant she thought might be good for lunch until—there it is. Longest stretch in the history of time. Client Retention and Multifamily Sessions. What a load. “Because there is a potential for focusing on the family member who is causing the most friction and forgetting who the original client was. The loudest person shouldn’t determine the course of treatment, even if that means the family sessions stop.” There. Not only did she thrown in relevant nouns, maybe Foster would see the last sentence as a deliberate dig at her managerial style, or lack thereof.
“Multifamily sessions, Joan, but I agree with you.” Well, so much for causing her to pause and reflect. “Keep in mind we are trying to craft a new paradignmia for supravidual care.” God, her vocabulary was annoying. Maybe if she dug hard enough into her chin, the hair would come out. Her thumb nail flickered back and forth, scratching over the tiny bump and the friction echoed through her skull, dampening the sound of one woman talking. Dampening, but not muting.
“I just think...” scratch, scratch, scratch, “...we can’t pretend like...,” scratch, scratch, scratch, “otherwise, in my opinion, the whole exercise...” scratch, scratch, “...but that’s just based on my experience.” Joan felt sorry to have missed such a definitive statement of therapeutic philosophy. After all, whoever this person was, she did seem to have a lot of experience.
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