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Wrong Time? Wrong Place? - Stephanie Haas

Wrong Time? Wrong Place? - Stephanie Haas

Photography / Mixed Media

12.25" x 15.25"


Wrong Time? Wrong Place?

Kaye Linden


Where are you? Christ. I wore the red dress you like. Did you leave a message on the wrong number? Is it me? Do I have the wrong day, wrong time, or wrong restaurant? Why is that woman looking at me? Bird's nest hairdo. Looks wiry. Why does anyone wear their hair like that? It's good I used that purple shampoo for my brassy hair. Doesn't seem to make much difference, though. She's looking again. This mirror is too small to see my hair. Damnit. What if he walks in while I'm looking at myself? How embarrassing. Does she know me? Shit. Is that your wife? Where's the frickin' waiter. My hands are sweating. My lipstick's too red. Clashes with the dress. What was I thinking? God, my mouth's dry. Waiter? Waiter? Do you take credit cards? What? No credit cards. For God's sake, what restaurant only takes cash? I don't have more than a twenty on me. Why is the waiter looking now? Don't women ever sit alone in restaurants? What's his problem? I'll raise my water glass to him. Hint. Hint. Water, please? I'm ranting. I'm gonna throw up. I need water. Where are you, for God's sake? What if my husband finds out I'm seeing you? What if he gets home early and walks in? No. He's out of town for a week. But he might come home early. Wow. I almost dropped that glass. It's slippery. Dammit. Calm down. I know what happened. I know exactly what happened. Your wife came home early. Jesus. What if they both come home early? That's not your wife. They all look the same at that age. Bleached blondes with heavy eye makeup. She's walking this way. Shit. Look away. Look the hell away. She just walked past me. Hugging that guy. I guess it's not your wife. 

Unless she's having an affair too.

Where are you, for God's sake? What the hell is taking so long? Should I leave? My hands are trembling. I'm gonna leave. I feel sick. I can't…

Oh, there he is. I look like a mess. He's coming over. Finally. Arsehole. 

"Hi honey." (My voice is shaking) "You're sorry. For what? That you're late? Oh. No problem at all. I was just relaxing with a dry glass. Ha ha. Come, let's order dry martinis. I wasn't worried at all."

 (I hope he brought his credit card.)

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