And then she started laughing. And then I did too. And I guess it was a good moment, both my therapist and I laughing together like life is just the funniest thing. But she assured me that no, it is a book that she was referring to. But wouldn’t it be great if a post-it note could make you feel instantaneously better? Or actually, it’s more of a combination of a post-it note and the right four words, I guess.

But this is why I was at the book store on a Thursday evening. And I will tell you that I do love the bookstore. I love basically everything about it. The rows and rows you can seclude yourself in; the few chairs you can find if you look hard enough, one of which you can actually sit in, if you’re lucky; the idea that you are sharing space with so many things smarter than you. I am not so great at figuring amounts when it comes to numbers of people or objects (but animals? man, I am spot-on when it comes to sizing up how many animals are in any given area. okay, not really, but I thought it was funny that I didn’t mention animals, but mentioned everything else). But anyway, I figure so many things is an adequate way to describe all the books in a bookstore, right?

But the only time I don’t love a bookstore is when I have to find one specific book. I feel like it is the perfect equivalence to finding that dreaded needle in a haystack (but why are you sewing among the hay, anyway?). And I get overwhelmed. I feel like I’d have a better chance at winning the lottery or going off and writing my own version of the book I am trying to find before I actually find it among so very many things (which is how I am referring to all those books, if you’ll remember).

And usually, I just go up and ask for help. I really have no trouble with this kind of thing at all. I ask people for directions all the time. I ask salespeople in stores for my size, without hesitation. When I was living in New York, rehearsing ACL, I really wanted to go to Bryant Park and I knew that it was super close, I just didn’t quite know how to get there. So I conjured up my best British accent in order to ask a passerby where the park was, so as not to make that person think I was actually someone who had been to New York before, let alone as many times as I actually had, and still didn’t know how to get to Bryant Park. And good thing, too, because I do believe that the directions I got were something along the lines of, “Just keep walking that way.”

But see, this particular title. Well, it’s a doozy.  And I will say that it’s not exactly the kind of book you want to let everyone know that you’re reading. Or, for that matter, why. But after searching for it on my own and coming up empty handed, I marched straight to the information booth, cause I was done looking.

Luckily the man behind the booth was very kind with a smile that does wonders in terms of customer service. If he had had a tip jar, I think I would have used it. I asked him if the store had the book I was after, and he told me to come to the computer and type in the title. And then, I don’t know why, but I got really nervous. He was watching me, and already I was embarrassed that I was looking for this particular book, and so I started typing like I had never even seen a computer before. And like I had never even spelled a word before, either. And in my confusion, I completely messed up the title, swapping one entirely embarrassing word for another one.

And that’s when nothing came up, over and over again. And he was all, “Are you sure that’s the title, sweetie?”And “Maybe it’s something else, honey…” cause nothing would come up, and even though it was kind of nice to be called so many terms of endearment, what I really wanted was that book and then to get the heck out of dodge. After paying for it, though, don’t you worry.

But then I finally remembered the actual word that is in the title, told him of my mistake right after I had my epiphany, and we laughed a long time together about that one.

And that tiny little post-it note is still on my dashboard, in order to remind me to buy that book. And I guess I’d better remember to put it somewhere else, because that’s gonna be an interesting conversation with whomever is in my car with me next.

And then I say whatever it is I am saying.

And then she promptly disagrees with me.

In fact, she has not told me that I am crazy once.

Not even when I told her that I sometimes joke about what’s happened. You know, the whole my-husband-had-an-affair-and-that’s-just-some-of-the-story.

What, you’re not laughing? Well, okay. Maybe when I put it like that, it’s not exactly a knee slapper, but sometimes things just strike me as hilarious.

Like tonight, at a bible study.

We were talking about prayer and how we listen for God to answer some of our questions. And I was trying to make the point that sometimes, when it’s a really important decision, I don’t just listen for that often talked about still small voice. I also look for peace in my heart and the counsel of people I trust and you know, if it’s a door that is opening and is indisputably good. I mean, I don’t really just ask God really high stakes questions and wait for a yes or no and then run blindly on that.

But what I said was this:

I don’t just ask God questions and wait for an answer. Like…I never asked God who I should marry…

And then what I said dawned on me, probably right after it dawned on everybody else. And I remembered who I actually had married and what a disaster that turned out to be. So I quickly tagged on:

…But maybe I should have.

And all of us burst out laughing, every one of us in that room. I think someone even managed to say that they loved me, in between bursts of laughter, of course.

I felt myself get warm all over and I was good and embarrassed and for once, I was kind of speechless for a good minute or two. And afterwards, my friend Christian and I were talking about it and laughing again. That was just too good, Jess, he said. Of all the examples you could have brought up…!!!

And I know, I know. Ridiculous.

But also? Hilarious.