Good Pet

While my face is as big as it’s always been, it looks sharper and more sculpted than it’s ever looked. My lips and eyes look painted on with the finest brush, shaded, and given depth by a masterful, sensing hand. And the color of the suits, one navy and white, and the other black and a little blue, they make me look more alive and more colorful, not so stressed and doughy. Something I’m not used to seeing in myself, no matter what I wear and no matter what kind of day it’s been.

For the first time in my life, I actually look handsome. I look like the kind of guy I would want to be. I look like a man with someplace to be other than his basement bedroom. I actually look like the lawyer I’ve always wanted to be.

I put a hand up to my face, trying to understand what I am seeing. “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!” I stamp my feet, out of anxiety, happiness and something I can’t quite describe. “Oh, my God! Is that really me? How can I look like that? I’ve never looked that nice or that sexy ever!”

Melissa laughs, but I can tell she’s starting to cry with joy.

The only one not emotional is the store clerk, and he is beginning to look like he’s regretting ever taking this job, precisely for the fact that it’s put him in a room with two grown adults freaking out over good fashion.

“Yes, honey,” says Melissa, coming over to join me. Indeed, she has tears in her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. “Yes, you can look that good. You are that handsome and that sexy, babe.”

I sniffle harder at this. “I can’t believe it,” I squeak, staring at myself.

Melissa kisses the back of my neck, wiping away some of her tears. “Believe it, my love. Believe you are this beautiful, this sexy, this worth it.”

While I’m not quite ready to accept that I’m worthy, I am ready to see myself as sexier and more handsome. That’s progress. Before today’s date, I would’ve never seen myself the way I’m beginning to see myself now — through the mirror of Melissa’s eyes.

I stay in the suit I’m in a little bit longer, savoring the experience. After that, I get dressed in my casual clothes and head toward the register. But not before Melissa grabs a few pairs of matching fancy leather shoes to go with the new suits. Of course, I protest to Melissa adding more to the total, but that just makes her grab more: socks, ties, cufflinks. She starts grabbing all of it without a second thought, now that she knows my size, the style that looks best on me.

That only succeeds in making me more anxious and more unsure of my worth. Especially since the cost has long since skyrocketed above my ability to cover the payment — at least until I get paid next, which, as I look at my bank through an app on my phone, hasn’t happened yet. Odd, considering I got paid last Saturday right on the dot.

Melissa is unconcerned with that, however. She just whips out her fancy piece of plastic and presents it to the store clerk, who is now our cashier. She doesn’t even bother to wait for the clothes to be bagged. She just swipes her card and approves the total.

This is where I start to really sweat bullets. “Melissa, please let me pay you back,” I say helplessly, as the total quickly reaches over two grand.

“You are paying me back,” she says with a thin smile, “for that salty attitude.” She flicks her eyes in my direction. “Seeing you moved so much by these clothes, it’s a pleasure to pay for them.”

“Melissa, please…”

“On second thought,” she says, “I’ve got a few more things I’d like to add.” Before I can beg her not to add any more to what she’s already spending on me, she comes back with two more copies of each suit, plus one extra color — a gray one. One that I didn’t try on, but was sort of looking at earlier. “Add these to the total.” She puts the suits on the counter.

I draw in a shaking breath. “No. Melissa, I can’t let you spend that kind of money on me.” I’m not quite sure what’s happening to me, but I’m beginning to feel dizzy and out of my head and body. It gets worse when I see that now the total is well over two grand and climbing towards three and a half.

Melissa doesn’t seem to know how bad it’s getting for me. Either that, or she doesn’t care. Either way, she allows the payment to go through, and everything to be bagged up. And I’m left clutching my only shopping bag to me like a paper bag I’m supposed to use to keep fainting.