The 7th Tarot Card Read Free

whom I’m not attracted to, and who can’t afford to buy a cup of coffee. Is that really too much to ask? Call me superficial.
    At the mall, leopard print flannel pajamas on display in the Victoria ’s Secret window beckoned to me, so I made a quick pit stop inside to pick them up, then moved on towards Macy’s. Did I really need leopard PJs? No, but it was a reward to myself for my earlier, dismal attempt at left-handedness. I feel it’s important to celebrate the “nice tries” as well as the victories.
    As I meandered past the kitchen gadget shops and upscale clothing boutiques, I was suddenly overcome with the uneasy feeling that someone’s malevolent eyes were focused on me. Watching. Waiting. My scalp prickled as I paused a moment, turned and studied the mélange of shoppers. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Jack the Ripper wasn’t standing there in a trench coat, ready to strike. The most threatening thing I saw was a runaway toddler squeezing a mustard-oozing hotdog in his gooey, little hands, teetering dangerously close to my black pants. Right behind him raced his mother in hot pursuit. Get a grip girl , I told myself. I was obviously still wigged out over the breather calls. Let’s not allow paranoia to set in.
    Continuing on into Macy ’s I found a mint green cashmere sweater on sale. It wasn’t pink as I had planned, but we must be flexible. Maybe it’s my destiny to have a green sweater, I don’t know. One shouldn’t box oneself into rigid ideas. On my way out, I took my usual stroll past the designer handbags and drooled a bit. Can’t afford one yet, but someday, when my credit cards are paid off . . . . At the rate I’m going, I should be totally debt free in about two-hundred years.
    Exiting the mall, I crossed the sky-bridge to the parking garage, contentedly humming along with Muzak’s orchestral version of Foreigner’s “Hot Blooded” streaming from the overhead speakers. Just as I entered the busy garage, not more than five yards away, a car door opened and I froze. Shuffling out in in his plaid shorts, faded orange polo shirt, and Birkenstocks was Ronald Schrencker.
    I was trapped like a rat .
    I made a n abrupt U-turn and speed-walked back across the sky-bridge into Macy’s. The closest hiding spot was to the right of me in the men’s underwear department. I took cover behind a well-endowed mannequin wearing black designer briefs and a matching V-neck T-shirt. Keeping my eyes on the door, I made a show of feeling the fabric, which by the way, was amazingly soft and probably worth the high price tag I pretended to examine.
    After a short interval Ronald entered, paused, and looked around. I dropped down out of sight and prayed he wasn’t in the market for new boxers. As the seconds ticked by, I felt increasing confidence in my hastily chosen refuge until a large pair of black wingtips came around the display table and stopped in front of me. Very slowly, I lifted my head and looked up to find a store clerk with his arms folded, staring down at me.
    “ Helloooo,” he greeted me.
    “ Hi.” I waved my fingers up at him.
    “ Can I help you with something?” He raised an eyebrow.
    “ Not right now, thank you.” I gave him a sunny smile. “Got a pesky little leg cramp. Can I just crouch here for a while?”
    “ Sadly, no.”
    He regarded me for a moment and pursed his lips. “Perhaps I should call 911 for you.”
    I replied, “You know, I think it’s feeling better now.” Bit by bit I stood up, shook out my leg, and searched for Ronald out of the corner of my eye, but he had vanished. I thanked the clerk for his concern, then head down, scuttled out of there as fast as I could. Yes, I cut it too close that time. I need to come up with a new exit strategy.
    ~
    A dazzling pink and golden sunset filled the western sky as I nosed out of the parking garage, so I decided to take the scenic route home through downtown Kirkland, a lovely beach town on the shores of Lake