Caleb: … and it’s got a 10.1 inch screen.

Jan: Let me see. There’s a bird in the picture! YOU ARE BEING MISLED BY THE BIRD. It’s like a advertising a car with a model with huge tits.

Caleb: It probably *is* a tit.

There are days where I wonder the madness it must have involved for me to make such a massive career move. I listen to tales of prosperity of peers and former colleagues and grow wistful/ envious of the studio apartment and wardrobe additions and Europe trips that never were.

And then I get into the whatthefuckwasIthinking line of thought, which only ever seems to spiral south.

But this rare week, my charisma made a miraculous return. Sans hallucinogens/ alcohol. I put on my Facade of Charm over my true introverted self, hid all my insecurities under a vivacious personality that once came naturally. I developed a rapport with my patients, bantered with nurses and a doctor I’d previously found intimidating and sailed through both days of placement, ending each with breathless elation.

Heck, I even correctly identified the naloxone House surreptitiously injected into his patient in what I thought was a rather wimpy epilogue.

(At least there was an explosion.)

I think I did make the right choice after all.

If there’s one work of fiction I pretend to emulate, it’s Charlize Theron’s character from Sweet November. I may not be 5’9”/ blonde/ insanely hot, but there’s part of me that thinks in every relationship, that I am preparing the Everyman for his Real Woman. I am only the Practice Woman, who teaches him chivalry, patience, emotional intelligence and how to feign interest in boring girlie topics. Then I set him free into the world, slightly more prepared, with better self esteem. Cue Mariah Carey’s Butterfly.

While I’ve decided Caleb is a keeper and no longer pull my Practice Woman exploits, I do still put up with awkward pick up attempts. (So many of them, why?) Simply because I know, trying to talk to a stranger takes balls. I am personally terrible at initiating eye contact, let alone small talk with someone I might be attracted to. I don’t want shrivel those balls. So whilst the man who cornered me into conversation at the toiletries aisle at Coles today was possibly more awkward than a 13 year old trying to french his cousin, I played nice. And hopefully someday he’ll be able to spread his wings and prepare to fly.

Jan: We’ve got a centre asking for rent here. What do I say?

Naomi: Just email Corn and Shevin. The lease is under their name.

Jan: ?

Naomi: I mean… Sean and Kevin. I am very tired.

* * *

Pete: Show me.

Jan: You’ll have to come over to look at the screen. I can’t move the monitor.

I sit in a tiny nook, shielded by the pillar. Pete isn’t a thin man.

Jan: Don’t get stuck.

Pete: I’m going to dock your pay.

Naomi howls in the background. She is his wife.