Day after the debacle at Aldo

The next day, I went to Aldo and flirted with the girl manager who happily exchanged my shoes for a more expensive and stylish pair. See, the thing about approaching women that are paid to be nice to you is that you get the feeling they might not be into you: they are, after all, paid to be nice to the costumer. If you cater this type, you’re so much more into trouble than you’d think. Actually, no catering, period. I marched right up in there and she could feel my indifferent steps all the way from the entrance into the man shoe’s section, and responded to the energy that I distilled. I was unimpressed at her recognition which made her more open and giddily (isn’t there more of an eloquent display of submissiveness on behalf of the opposite sex than assuming a girly attitude?) insisted I take (see, there was a catch to her over-friendliness) the shoes I initially rejected.
–It’s the principle –I argued. –And it’d be better if we move on.
All the while, I was my usual hard-ass self, tough-looking prick, who unwillingly extended a vote of mellow sympathy towards this hot chick going all out for me. She was the domesticated lioness I always wanted next to me. I sincerely thanked her without giving her as much as a vague stare. This girl had made physical contact and obviously left all the rest of the store in pause to come in my aid. I got my shoes and left.

Bad luck???

Is there such a thing as bad luck? I’d say it depends on the mind. As for me, such nonsense has no place. The luckiest are usually the ones who are born good-looking, talented, and, or, of money. Bah, who needs money anyway, and while it’s true that it helps more to have than to have not, it is not all. Now, for the record, I love money. Isn’t that quite something for contradictions? All is against us right now, my thought process is limited by the scarcity of time left (roughly less than a few minutes) to structure my ideas in any meaningful light. But why did I start with such a gullible question? Well, Isabel went to the hospital –nine weeks pregnant by now –to find out why a doctor gave her antibiotics now that she is expecting. She drank three pills of a bottle that clearly stated: “Do not use if pregnant, or possibly pregnant.” A huge argument ensued a couple of days ago when I asked her why had the doctor given her and without question she went to the pharmacy and without as much as a worry drank the first pill. She started bleeding. I had asked her what was that medicine she was taken way before she took it and she had said that I didn’t know as much as a doctor to question the medicament. Well, that was the end of the conversation but when she told me late in the afternoon that she had pissed blood, I immediately checked the label on the bottle of pills. I was, to say the least, furious. I refused to go to the hospital with her even. My reason for doing so is that she had taken all the steps to climb aboard where she found herself now all alone and now she wanted me to be part of it? It is horrible and it’s also a sign, I guess, of how messy things can get with this girl at times. Well, gotta go for now.