Jogging in Jeans: I can explain

I went on an American Horror Story (season 1) binge Monday. I love horror and pride myself on being the type of person who doesn’t get scared easy. For those of you who haven’t seen it, there is a haunted house with pretty violent ‘ghosts’ who appear as regular people. There’s blood and violence and unforeseen torture. Sometimes I forget the real scary part of horror shows is not in the moment but the aftermath.
After watching 5 episodes I had to go feed my friend’s cats. Yes, I am a good friend. Being a good person was very important in my family. Do the right thing. Be likeable. I’m very obedient. I wish my parents had been like “make money at any cost” I might have been one of these people with a safety deposit box at the bank.
As I am walking to my friend’s place in Brooklyn, less than a mile from me, I notice there are no other people on the block. I feel slight panic. “This is weird,” I think. Then I counter it with “No, it’s not weird, it’s nice. How often do you get to walk a block in Brooklyn alone?” I tried to trick myself from panic to enjoyment but the quickening of my steps said I had not succeeded. Finally a man exits a building with a full trash bag in hand. I relax a bit but I don’t look right at him for fear he may have a mangled face.
I get to my friend’s apartment. She has four cats. One I never saw, but the other three are interested in guests. I walk in the apartment, the fact that I am alone in an unfamiliar apartment pops into my head. How would I know if something was in the wrong spot or if there was evidence of an intruder? I find the wet food. I have three cats looking at me from various points in the apartment.
I like cats but they are hard to read. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought I am getting a “Hey you, want to pat me?” vibe from a cat and then SWAT they are swinging their clawed paw at me. They transform so quick. I’m kind of jealous. I wish I could let out my inner “don’t fucking pet me” persona.
I talked to the cats out loud saying things like “You must miss your Mom, excuse me, your Human Mom” I said, adding some levity to the relentless staring. The minute I opened the canned food, all eyes were off me. They darted over like they hadn’t been fed in months. I watched them devour the food within seconds and then it hit me, what if they want more food? I was told what to feed them and I did that. I’m obedient. I wasn’t about to overfeed them. I got out of there lickety split. I knew if I got caught in a semi circle of cat stares, I might fold and feed them again.
Outside it had become dark and I hadn’t worn my contacts so I couldn’t really see far ahead. I decided to jog home with my purse on my shoulder.
Every wonder what effect binging on American Horror Story might have? Picture a lady in jeans and a t shirt jogging up Smith street in Brooklyn with a purse on her shoulder concentrating on the sidewalk two feet in front of her because she can’t see further than that.
Boy, my ego beat me up good for that one. I had to wear a full face of make up for the next two days to counteract looking bad in public.
If you ever see me with eye shadow on, it means I embarrassed myself recently.
Ask me about it.

Thanks for listening!
Kendra is a stand up comic living in Brooklyn where she owns a super comfortable bed. She spends most of her time wondering where the hell her sugar daddy is and hoping he didn’t settle.
twitter @theotherkendra

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