It’s 6:02. I’ve now been here for close to five hours. I’m hungry…actually fantasizing about eating the chicken at home in the fridge in the blue Tupperware on the top shelf near my cucumbers and hummus that my husband barbequed yesterday. I’m picturing it…on one of our dark green plates from Crate & Barrel from our wedding registry, sticking a fork in the entire thing and shoving it in my mouth. Not shoving in an erotic sort of way but shoving in a desperate I’m starving please lord help me before I pass out sort of way. Not that I couldn’t afford to lose a few pounds. (Twelve to be exact…but who’s counting?)

I’ve had to pee for two and half hours. Not badly at first but now, the painful kind.  Like I just finished off a keg and my bladder is hard and uncomfortable. I can see the bathroom door in the mirror. It’s behind me, it’s brown, and it’s taunting me.

And I’m tired…so tired. My lazy eyelid has reached its lowest drooping point and I look like I’m totally wasted. This wasn’t supposed to take this long. But now I can’t get out of here. I’m trapped. Stuck in a black swivel chair in Fantastic Sam’s.