Dear Friend,
Forgive me for I have sinned. Not just any sin, but one of the Seven Deadly Sins. It is the time of year where my heart aches for crisp breezes, my eyes search for colors in the trees, and my nose sniffs for that certain smell that only fall can bring. But, we are in Texas my senses are deprived. My thoughts drift toward the ongoing fantasy of moving far far away.
Today my first client came in and brought sin in with him in the shape of New York Magazine. I knew he was from the northeast before he ever got to my chair. He had that look about him, I can't really describe it but I know it when I see it. Kind of like Gay radar (gadar) only for New Yorkers.
As I ran my hands through his hair (no the sin is not Lust), I pulled out the details of his life. Yes he has a "place" in The City, but he mainly lives in Maine. He decided this year he did not want to "winter" in Maine so he bought a place here. He is semi-retired and travels to DC twice a month. I did not want to know what he did for a living because I was afrtaid he would say that he is a wtirer. This man already seemed to be living the life I wanted if he had the career I have imagined myself to have I could not have been trusted with the sharp tool in my hand.
I have been feeling Envy. If you feel a certain thing and realize it I am not so sure it counts as a sin. But I did more than feel envy. I indulged it. When my male counterpart who stole my life left my chair, he left behind his New York magazine. I did manage to feel slightly superior though, no self respecting North Eastener actually subscribes to that weekly, and I took pleasure in knowing that in my own mailbox waiting for me was The New Yorker. A far more worthy publication. None the less I picked up the rag and started reading it.
I saw my clent's name and address on the front, his local address where the subscription now comes and his New York address. Both impressive in their own rights.
This part of the confession is hardest to admit. On my break I drove by his new local residence. It was only a few blocks out of the way and I told myself it was not that big of a deal really. i was just curious. I found the house easily since it is one of the brand new ones in the neighborhood. Modern, stark, not all reflecting the original feel of the area. It had a high price tag I am sure, and I am also sure that my client found it to be a "steal". I sat there parked in my car with his magazine, and his life sitting beside me like a passenger that refuses to leave. When I felt a pang of fear at being caught sitting there I knew I was in the depths of Envy. What would I say if he walked out? "Um I just wanted to see if you really liked your haircut?" Or maybe,"You left your magazine and oh by the way you stole the life I was supposed to have and I would really appreciate it if you gave it back now, thanks. Don't forget to pick up Annie at 3:00". Then I could walk blindly into his perfect life and take over. I would have no problem getting something to drink out of his/my stainless steel fridge of cooking on his/my granit countertops. Before turning completely mad I started the car.
I told my passengers, New York magazine and Envy, that if they refused to leave at least buckle up so I don't get a ticket. They told me they already had buckled up and not to worry they would be riding with me for a while.
