I am a gopher with a chipped tooth.
I went to the pharmacy, a two minute walk from the apartment, and asked if they knew of a dentist in the neighborhood. They recommended one, and I walked another minute to the dentist office.
Luckily this is August, only tourists are in town. Dentists have time to see the likes of me. The receptionist gave me an appointment, and yesterday I went to have my tooth fixed.
The dentist said my name, I stood up and shook her hand. Though in my judgemental heart I thought, "Jean shorts, tennis shoes, sock-less, tee shirt (the kind teens were to bed) and the only thing that is missing is that she isn't chewing gum."
She was the dentist. Though she looked liked the summer replacement receptionist, who just came back from the beach volley ball game.
I guessed her to be 21 at most... but since she was the dentist that couldn't be true. Couldn't be true. I felt awful for judging her. Blame it on her shorts.
For a brief second I second guessed the pharmacy: "What is the worse that could happen?" I didn't answer myself as I sat in the chair.
As I leaned back in the chair, with the dentist (the one with the cut off shorts) hands in my mouth, I thought about my friend Bonnie when I lived in Paris twenty five years ago. Bonnie was in her early thirties, though she looked sixteen. She had a beautiful baby named Benjamin. Often on the metro people would stare at her and whisper, "Isn't it a shame, she is too young to have a baby!"
I looked at the Dentist and tried real hard to imagine she was as old as Bonnie was twenty five years ago.
After the dentist appointment I had to do buy some needed things for the apartment. The renovator Regis, and French Husband or Mr. OCD in certain things, asked me too.
I went to the hardware store: Four floors of nuts, bolts, and at least two hundred thousand electric screw gun. With list in hand I made my way through the aisles.
Nothing went right, or I should say I was playing charades in the dark. I couldn't find a thing. The salespeople were nowhere to be found, and worse I forgot the receipt to pick up the pre paid order. On top of it all I couldn't find my words. I stood in line with a man who talked to me for thirty three minutes, I didn't understand a word he was saying, and yet with my memorized French mannerisms and expressions of interest he thought I understood. Should I be ashamed? I wasn't. I listened that is what he needed. He didn't notice that I didn't understand because he talked in triangles. Triangles! When the salesperson asked him to write what he wanted, because she couldn't understand him, I felt better. Then I felt bad for feeling better.
It took me two hours to gather what I went for, it was exasperating.
To make a long story short, because it was an adventure beyond belief, a "chariot" cart was brought out with the things I had bought. I asked the receptionist if I could take the chariot outside since French Husband was waiting for me, illegally parked (yes for two hours).
Little did she know that French Husband was parked several blocks away.
There I was pushing my chariot down the streets of Paris, looking wiped out, dusty, hair pulled back ... I was looked at like I was an alien. It made me laugh.
Judgement worthy I was. I didn't fit the Paris picture and it didn't bother me in the least.
Then I saw French Husband: White socks pulled up, cut off 501, loading the truck... and I felt love bursting in air. It sure feels good to be a "Go For" with a chipped tooth"! To know that it didn't matter how I looked, or how he looked, or how anyone looked...
We are who we are regardless of the package we are given.
Tomorrow my tooth will be repaired by a beautiful bright cut off short wearing young dentist.