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We stepped up to the front door, and just as I was about to press the doorbell, the door swung inward, revealing a woman who was probably in her late sixties with salt and pepper dreadlocks piled into a messy bun on top of her head. She wore a bulky dress that hid most of her figure and a wide smile that glowed beneath round spectacles. "Hello girls."
"How'd you know we were here?" Paige asked, eyes wide. "We didn't even ring the bell yet."
April elbowed her sister-in-law. "She's psychic, remember?"
"Ohhhh." Paige hiccuped and then was quiet.
"A reading then?" The psychic looked right at me as she asked this, and a chill shot through me. How did she know we were here for me?"
"Yes please," I said. "I mean, if you're still open. It's pretty late, and we don't want to bother you."
"No bother," she said. "I knew you were coming. Follow me. Shut the door if you would, don't want Bruno getting out."
"Oh, do you have a kitty cat?" Paige asked.
"Bruno is a feline, yes, but he's not quite what you'd refer to as a kitty."
The psychic left it at that, and we exchanged glances behind her back as she led us down a brightly lit hallway to a little room off to the right with French doors. Her dress dragged on the floor behind her, and I was careful not to step on it as we trailed her into the room.
"Have a seat," she said to me, pointing to a chair drawn up to a small table. "And you ladies can sit there." An antique couch rested against one wall, and Paige and April headed for it.
"I'm just going to"—the psychic had begun pulling the hem of her dress up, and at this point was engulfed in the bulky fabric, head and arms no longer visible—"if I could just get this thing off." Her voice was muffled from within the giant garment, and I was relieved to see she wore jeans and a T-shirt beneath it.
"Is that a Snuggie?" Paige asked the writhing mass of fleece in the center of the room. The psychic seemed to be having difficulty.
"Do you need help?" I asked.
"Yes please, if you don't mind."
I helped pull the enormous dress off over her head, and she took it from my arms and rolled it up, dropping it at one side of the room and then patting her hair. "Not a Snuggie," she said. "I went off brand, and let me tell you, big mistake."
"A Slanket?" Paige tried again.
"Not even. This is a Blafghan I got on the Home Shopping Show, and I cannot recommend it. They made the arm and neck holes too small, and if you manage to get the thing on, you're practically a prisoner inside it until someone can rescue you. Yet another peril of living on one's own."
I exchanged wide-eyed glances with April as I sank into the chair the psychic had indicated was for me. Was I doomed to find myself trapped inside an infomercial blanket dress at some point in my future? With multitudes of not-kitty cats roaming around me?
"Now sit, and let's find out why you can't snag yourself a man," the psychic said. "I might just have a little spritz." She lowered herself into a leather desk chair opposite me and turned to a mini fridge behind her, extracting a wine cooler.
"They still make those?" I remembered my mother waxing nostalgic about Bartles and Jaymes, so I'd categorized wine coolers along with sarsaparilla and Ovaltine—drinks that I'd heard of but didn't think I'd run across in the store any time soon.
"Of course they do," the psychic said, shaking her head. She downed half the wine cooler and placed it on the table to one side, and then leaned over and opened a drawer. She waved her hand, palm down over the drawer, and closed her eyes, extracting a deck of cards after a moment. "Yep, I figured." She said this to herself as she began to shuffle the deck between her hands. "The cats like you," she said to me, and I realized she had a deck of cat tarot cards. "Not a good sign if you're looking for romance."
"Wonderful," I said.
"You!" The psychic barked suddenly, glaring over at the couch.
Paige and April both jolted to upright positions as if they'd been chastised in church for slouching.
"Clap your hands, please. Twice."
April looked terrified suddenly, and she did as directed. The lights in the room immediately dimmed.
"Clap on," Paige giggled. "Clap off."
"And they call me the drunken psychic? Do they call you the drunken doctor?" The psychic delivered this in a dry tone, and I sensed I was about to get a no-nonsense reading. She was not the bumbling nut I'd expected, though she did seem to have an affinity for products sold on infomercials.
"How did she know?" Paige whispered loudly. "She is really good."
