Evil Eye

We're taking a drive out to Dr. Scissorhands.

It's the pre-hysterectomy appointment.

My love has PTSD about the evil eye that I hand out occasionally.

You see, when we went in to have an orientation about the top surgery, I really wasn't ready to support my love, and the guy who was talking about the surgery had to feel my wrath.

I am really good at dirty looks.

Not something to really be proud of, but I've had it down since I was a kid.

Once, someone, somewhere, pissed me off at the ripe age of 4, and they made the mistake of coming to my house to ask me if I could play.

I was busy playing with my toys at the front door, so when she came up the stairs, I was ready.

After she knocked, I peeked through the mail slot and spat out, "Whadda you want?" with obvious disdain.

She asked me if I wanted to play and I let the mail slot with close with an echoing, "No."

That was when my first evil eye was noted by my parents.

From that day forward, it was my secret weapon.

And ohhhhhhh how I used it on the dude at the top surgery office.

Yeah.

I wasn't ready.

And I was pissed off.

Papi never let me forget it.

Every appointment we've been to that has to do with the male transformation, my love asks about a million times before we go, "Ok.  You're not going to give the evil eye right?"

Of course not Papi.

Where on earth would you get that idea?

I mean really, last time we went to see Dr. Scissorhands, I didn't give the evil eye.

I sat quietly and listened to doc explain how they're going to take my love apart.

I had my 'pretend' face on.

The one where you just turn the outer edges of your lips up, and smile with your eyes.

It was hard to hold the whole time, but I did it.

I'm a proud executioner of 'Fake it until you Make it".

Today I don't feel as rancid as I did back then.

Yes, I've opened my mind a lot more.

I'd rather that my love has this operation anyway, because there were pre-cancerous cells brewing there in the past.

Get rid of them.

I want to spend a long life with mi esposo.

Mind you, what the cancer can't get to, the bad eating will take care of I'm sure.

Did I ever tell you that I have to make food for my love if I want him to eat healthy?

I'm sure I have.

My cookie monster chases his pizza dinner with a chocolate bar.

Mind you I'm pretty psychotic about my health.

My version of junk food is a can of soup, and a cup of coffee.

Anyway, back on track.

Today, we're driving out to bum-fuck-nowhere for the pre-surgery appointment.

I, Andréa Hector-Brown, promise to play nice.

I will not slam the mail slot on his face and give the evil eye.

I will fake it until I make it.

Besides, he was kinda nice, and because of the long drive, I'll be hopped up on pain killers which will put a smile on my face whether I like it or not.