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Of course yesterday I thought about Paula all day, and called her twice—once at work, when I got to speak with her for a minute; and again at home, but she wasn't there and I didn't leave a message. This was rude but Paula never calls me back when I call her at home and I'm too foolish not to spend the next few evening in painful suspense anyway. So I didn't leave a message, and then a little while later when I'd decided not to answer the phone for awhile someone called twice and didn't leave a message either. There are few things more unlikely than that it was Paula calling. Nevertheless, this morning when I went to her office Paula was rude and unfriendly, and within moments of leaving I began excusing her behavior, telling myself that she was quite justifiably angry at my stupid failure to answer the phone last night and my unforgivable failure to leave a message when I called. On Sunday Star Market was as crowded with people as it could possibly be. Seventy percent of the shoppers were moving in the normal direction, the rest had decided to be brilliant and shop backwards. Consequently everyone had to wait in line to get, for instance, to the cat food. Anyway I managed, circumventing and bumping as required—and all the time I kept saying, quite audibly, "Paula." By the time I got to the dairy section I had the impression I was being given some space. |