"How much?" I asked the smiling salesgirl at Neiman Marcus in utter amazement. "Six hundred dollars? For this?" I picked up the bracelet I'd gotten as a Christmas gift from the man I'd spent my vacation from hell with.
"Wow. That's really sweet," I said, a momentary feeling of remorse washing over me. "Of course, he was willing to pay $700 to the stripper he wanted to invite back to our room for a fun-filled night of 'dog eat cat(s)'." I accidentally used my out-loud voice to express my thoughts, all remorse lost at the memory.
"I beg your pardon?" she said, shocked but still smiling; what a true professional.
"What? Oh, nothing. I'd like to return it and credit his card." That would solve the problem, I thought.
"I'm afraid that without a receipt, I can't credit his card. I can only issue you a store credit," she said, annoying ear-to-ear grin still in place.
"No. I can't. I don't feel right about it. Anything I buy would just bring back all the bad mammaries ... I mean memories," I stuttered.
"That's really all that I can do."
She was trying to be helpful, but I really didn't want anything. I knew I couldn't keep it because every time I'd look at it I'd cringe and end up feeling like a $600 hooker. I guess I could just give it back to him ... but we weren't exactly speaking to one another anymore. Or I could just give it to Ms. Smiley Pants-Employee of the Freakin' Month. What should I do?
"Get the damn store credit and stop being such a pain in the ass! Get the credit and buy us something that we would never buy for ourselves. If he didn't want us to have it, he wouldn't have bought the damn thing in the first place. Besides, he's a ladies man. Care to wager how many bracelets he purchased in the last fiscal year? You're not a hooker; if you keep it, just think of it as a lovely parting gift."
I looked up at the salesgirl, my eyes the size of plates. I couldn't believe she had just said that to me. But before I could open my mouth to protest, the voice chimed in again: "Hello, Stupid? It's me, your Va-Judy."
My eyes shot down to my fly and my hand instinctively followed suit. I was afraid the salesclerk would hear her.
In a muffled voice she said, "Don't be wetoddid, no one can hear me but you."
Only half-convinced I asked the sweet salesgal, "Did you say something?"
She shook her head and smiled pleasantly, going about her business of straightening the jewelry in the case.
"I say we mosey on up to the fancy-gown department and buy ourselves the sexiest, most glamorous $600 dress we can find and hit that fabulous party we were invited to," said Judy.
"Nice. Aren't you the least bit concerned about how we would feel if we did that?" I asked her.
"How we would feel? Excuse me for sayin', but as far as I'm concerned, I earned that freakin' bracelet, and if I want to trade it in for a freakin' party dress and go to a freakin' party then that's the freakin' plan!" She was irritated now, and believe you me, there is nothing in this whole wide world worse than an irritated Va-Judy.
"But, we don't have a date," I said, grasping at straws.
"I got three words for ya, sister: Hot. Tub. Tim," she said dreamily.
Hot Tub Tim? My go-to guy? My I-don't-have-a-date-during-the-holidays-can-you-please-escort-me-to-the-many-parties-and-galas-I-must-attend-and-make-me-look-good-Hot-Tub-Tim? Mr.-Ass-you-could-eat-lunch-off-of-and-never-ever-scold-for-eating-crackers-in-your-bed-Hot-Tub-Tim? The man who assisted me in my efforts to get over my former boyfriend last year—by getting under him—in the hot tub? That Hot Tub Tim?
"Yup! That's the one," answered Judy. "What's say we dial his digits, invite him to the party, answer the door looking like a rock star in our brand new party dress, spend the evening swaying him with our womanly wiles, and then jump his gorgeous bones?"
I didn't answer. But I was seriously considering her idea.
"Or we can raid the closest Stop N Shop, load up on Cheetos and beer, and spend the night in our dingy gray robe and cucumber face mask watching reruns of Sex and the City as we feel sorry for ourselves for not having the cojones to get back out there and have some stinkin' fun. Yeah, on second thought, that sounds like a much better idea." She can be so sarcastic sometimes.
"Well ..." I said.
"Paper, scissors, rock?" she said, sensing my hesitation.
Her paper covered my rock and before I knew what I was doing, I was dialing Tim's number.
"Atta girl!" she said. "Oh, I almost forgot, I have one rule." Now she tells me?
"Hello?" said Tim as he answered the phone.
"I can fall in love with Hot Tub, but you can't! He is not that guy. He's the guy we lust, he's not the guy we love, got it? Otherwise you're setting us up for heartbreak, which translates to hiatus for me, and I'm not in the mood to go on hiatus again. Deal?"
"Hi, Tim? Sonja. Can you hold on a minute?" I said, waving the sales clerk over. After having just witnessed the entire exchange between me and my very demanding Va-Judy, her smile was strained, but still glued in place. "I'll take that store credit."
Sonja is a writer who covers the ins and outs of relationships. Or is it the ups and downs?