Why did the phone have to ring so loudly in the morning? The call display said it was Brenda. I steeled myself and answered the phone.
As usual, she was direct. “So what did you get permanently etched on your skin?”
Oh fuck, is that all? “I have the first two bars of Man of Constant Sorrow on the inner side of my left wrist.”
“Man of Constant Sorrow. Why that song?”
“I’ve had major depressive disorder my entire life, my marriage just ended; I think those are good reasons. I’m just embracing who I am.”
“So you’ve BRANDED yourself as a depressive? That’s pretty fucked up, don’t you think?”
Yeah, I guess it is. “Nope, I don’t see a problem with that. And it’s not like you didn’t have a hand in it.”
She sighed the loveliest of sighs. “Are you going to tell Dr. Schadenfreude about it?”
“I don’t see any reason to discuss it with him, unless you feel the need to call him again and rat me out.”
“I was concerned. That doesn’t make me a bad person.”
“No, THAT doesn’t.”
And yet again, she hung up.