All the Personality in the World

All the Personality in the World

Every morning she quizzed me. Half personality test, half basic information about our lives. She wanted to see who she was dealing with that day, I know.

Every day I was different, I know.

Name?

Easy one. Always the same. But it was still met with a relaxing sigh.

Marital status?

Married. To you.

Another relaxing sigh.

I ask, is this always the answer I give?

She shakes her head. It's sad, to me, that you don't know that, she replies.

I shrug.

It's a lazy Sunday afternoon, would you prefer to read a book or watch a movie?

Those are my only two options? I ask.

She doesn't reply and moves on to the next question. I feel like I am already failing, but am unsure how someone fails a personality test.

Do you believe people are generally good? she asks. Before I can answer, she adds, Rate this one on a scale of 0-10, with 10 being always, absolutely good.

I think about my answer and this time she lets me respond.

Six, I say.

She nods. And then she looks at me closely, gets up and says, I think I'll wait this one out.

This one? I ask.

This day. This entire day. She smiles with only her mouth, her eyes remain steely and fully open. You can do whatever you want today. Then, she adds a touch of snark, Which I am sure is not read a book.

To be honest, I have no idea if it's Saturday, Sunday or a holiday. I only know it's not a work day. Strike that, I think I'm sure it's not a work day. Then, as I realize I have no idea what happened yesterday, I'm far less sure.

I ask, Is today a day off?

She nods her head. Then adds, That was better. Maybe there is some hope for you today.

But she still walks out of the room. Which is mainly shades of brown and then, as I take a first good look at this room, I notice the walls are bookshelves and they're full of books. Mostly literature from a quick scan. Books are important to her. Fuck.

--

Name?

I ask, Why would you ask me that?

She winces. Too aggressive, she says, See you tomorrow.

What the hell is going on here? I yell.

--

Do you get stressed out when you're late to a date or an appointment?

The question itself gives me some anxiety. Yes, I reply. It's self-obsessed to be late.

She smiles.

Then I ask, Why are you asking me these questions? She puts down her notepad, onto her lap. She is wearing a dark grey pencil skirt, I think they're called.

She smiles even more warmly. See you after work tonight. I'll be home by four, if you can arrange to finish up early.

I work from home, so if I skip lunch I can easily be ready at 4pm. Ready for what, though, I don't know.

Word count: 499