Page 11 of Authentically, Izzy
Penelope
PS: He did trip over one of the flowerpots on set and got potting soil stuck on his perfectly straight teeth. (And before you ask, this time it wasnotmy fault.)
From: Izzy Edgewood
To: Penelope Edgewood
Date: February23
Subject: Steve the Audiologist
Penelope,
I’m so sorry about the play and the boy. It sounds as though he wasn’t a good fit for you anyway. Your Flower Girl #1 outshines any Eliza Doolittle, I am certain. Men are so fickle; that is why I feel all the more resolute in my choosiness. Especially after he-who-left-me-at-the-altar (HWLMATA). And why not? If I’m almost perfectly content on my own, why would I long for halfway content with another person JUST to claim I have a boyfriend? No, singleness (with all of my fictional friends) is preferable over a poor choice.
As ridiculous as Josie thinks it is, I’ve always found a lot of truth in romantic fiction. What’s wrong with expecting a man to treat a woman well? To share excellent conversations? To have similar likes—even unusual ones? To experience mutual respect and humor? Why do those kinds of things seem more frequent in popular novels and Hallmark movies than in real life? Is it wrong to wait for a relationship like that?
I know in-person relationships haven’t been my forte, especially the ones Josie chooses, so maybe this online thing DOES have some perks. I think this is Josie’s seventh blind date for me in three months. Seventh! I am NOT that desperate.
As far as Steve the Audiologist goes? Medical encyclopedias. Those are the books he collects. And though I find historical books, of any persuasion, valuable and worthy of protection, I never imagined I’d meet a man who enjoyed discussing the facts within a century-old medical book ad nauseam.
Tell me, Penelope, am I as overbearing as that when I discuss my fictional loves? Please say no. I don’t think I’ve ever heard the suffix “itis” more times within a thirty-minute conversation in my whole life. This is not what I want for my future.
Josie has already messaged me and I can’t bear to answer her. Do you think I should pretend to be sick to avoid seeing her at church? No, I suppose not. If I am to be anything like my sword-wielding Éowyn, I must act brave enough to meet my pregnant, misled, matchmaking cousin face-to-face. But Steve the Audiologist? Has my vibrant life of fictional wonders dissolved into the choice between spinsterhood and medical encyclopedias?
Izzy
PS: Sea urchins have no discernible face and can live up to two hundred years. I don’t think there is a direct correlation between those two things. I just find them interesting.
From: Josephine Martin
To: Izzy Edgewood
Date: February24
Subject: Stop ignoring me
Izzy,
I know you are ignoring me. Steve told Patrick that he enjoyed your dinner together, though you were a quiet date. Oh, why do you resort to your shy self with everyone except our family? You are much more interesting when you talk instead of sit there like a statue. No wonder strangers think you are aloof! Do you remember how long it took me to convince the youth pastor at church that you were not mute? You say it was because he wouldn’t let you get a word in, but I don’t believe you. I had no problem speaking to him at all. It just required a little extra volume.
It’s one thing to be a good listener. It’s quite another to not respond at all except with those large, unsettling eyes of yours. You must get over this shyness and force yourself to engage in others’ lives for your future’s sake, Izzy. Regular people tend to talk about more things than books, movies, and the pleasure of nature. Maybe you could find a book on audiology? Or golf?
Josephine
PS: I know I will see you at the library fundraiser. You can’t ignore me there.
Text from Izzy to Josephine:Steve the Audiologist had a very fine nose.
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Heart-to-Heart
Date: February26
Izzy-for-now(?),
Blue mountains? Are they cold? Sad? (So sorry. Very bad pun.) I’m afraid my conversations improve with familiarity, though it takes some time to get beyond the notoriously imbecilic initiation or my unnerving silence (for fear of sounding imbecilic, I resort to speechlessness). My mother refers to my awkwardness as “lovely” and “an acquired taste,” but mothers are required to say such things, I’m told.
