Ahh, the outfit Kattar put together for this date. Courtesy of ending up with a hole in his sweater because he had trouble reaching it from his wheelchair
It was a black sweater and blue leather jacket x black jeans and black vans
“...Y entonces? El restaurante - permisito - un momento-”
I try for the tenth time to snag the hanger, but it’s just a fraction of an inch out of reach from where I’m sitting.
“‘Sta bien, sta bien,” Utkarsh laughs from his end of the line. “If your girlfriend is calling you can hang up on me.”
“No. it’s this-” I pause for a minute trying to keep the frustration, irritation, agitation melange from sounding in my voice.
I don’t have time for this…
It’s just one of those days when ‘frustration’ starts to mutate into that thickness in my throat.
“I can’t reach one of my sweaters,” I mumble furiously.
“Try using some salad tongs,” he offers.
If almost literally anyone else had suggested that I probably would have burned a hole through their ears with some choice language. But I know he’s not joking in the least, so I resist the urge to throw something.
“That’s a good idea.” It takes me 20 seconds to be able to say it outloud. “Give me a minute.”