tonight. whatever.

    I think I need to get better at pretending I am fine.  I am tired of people seeing right through me, of wearing my proverbial heart on my sleeve. 

    Sheesh.

     Tonight I walked home in the rain.  It was fitting, actually.  I didn't mind getting wet, didn't mind being chilly; it sort of worked for me, considering tonight was not my night.

    For reasons I don't care to get into too specifically, things just felt bad tonight.  My foot hurts. I feel like I get tons of notes for a song that I. DON'T. EVEN. SING. But really, I am not upset about that...most of the time...I am frustrated by well...something else, too...Can't really get into it.  But anyway.

   So I walked into my apartment building out of the rain, and was waiting for what seemed to be maybe the Guinness book of world record's longest wait for any elevator to date, when two very jovial gentlemen walked in.  

   Their apparent cheer only made me more annoyed, unfortunately; you know, misery loves company and all that.  I got into the elevator and I was lucky enough to have one of Pleasantville's own citizen's join me.  I asked, What floor? 4, he said.  Great, I thought (and yes, it is possible to think sarcastically), me too...He turns towards me and asks, How are you tonight? 

   I shrug my shoulders noncommittally and say, I'm...okay...

    Just okay? he asks, Why just okay?

   Perfect, I think, So he fancies himself Freud...But I say, Oh, I'm really fine. I even give a smile to prove the point.

   No, your not fine. What's wrong? he persists.

   Uh, nothing, I say.

   Not to be deterred, he presses, Come on, what's wrong?

   Relenting just a little, thinking maybe he will be satisfied with a slight admission, I say, I'm just...frustrated...

   With what? he asks, but I don't really answer, so he takes me by surprise by asking, Are you in A Chorus Line?

   Yeah, I reply, in shock (then I remember that I have an A Chorus Line bag strapped on...right...). 

   He points to the Jersey Boys logo on his bag and says, I'm in Jersey Boys.

   

   At that point, we'd gotten out of the elevator and he tells me, I'm going to put my stuff down and come knock on your door and we can talk.

   Uh-oh.  No, I don't think that would be a good idea, so I say, No, really, you're so kind to be concerned, but I am truly fine.  Really.

   He asks me how many shows I have on Sunday, I say one, he ends the conversation by telling me, Sunday night, I  will be knocking on your door...

    I pointedly do not respond to his statement and simply say, It was nice to meet you; have a good night. I say it kindly, though, because I do believe that he wanted to help me...

   It was kind of awkward, to tell you the truth.  And if I've learned anything at all, it is to not ever--no matter if they happen to be in a great broadway show--let a strange man into your apartment, especially when you are alone.  

   I also, from time to time, can find myself in a little bit of a dilemma concerning how clear I should be about my married status up front.  I am not sure that this guy would be knocking on my door if he knew there was no chance of anything more than a friendly conversation; at the same time, I don't want to assume that just because a guy wants to knock on my door that he is hitting on me.

 

   He very well could just be looking for conversation.  And I don't want to be vain in assuming that a guy would want more...

   Whatever. There are worse things in life, like the frustrating thing to which I alluded earlier in the post...

   

   But I think I will be practicing a nice firm, I am doing well to say to people who ask after me.  

   Even if I'm not, cause not everyone has to know.