A good friend, Mike, tells me last time he saw me he didn’t think I felt well.
We had been together at a meeting, “I didn’t feel bad. Why did you think that?”
You didn’t look right.
“What didn’t look right?”
“My hair made me look sick?”
It wasn’t fluffy. It looked like braids or rats or something. Like you hadn’t fixed it.
“Oh.. so a bad hair day made me look sick.”
There was more. You’re color wasn’t right. You looked pale.
Because of his sincere concern, I’m amused, “Bad hair; bad makeup. Anything else?”
Your eyes were kind of glassy, like maybe you were on drugs. Maybe you were too relaxed.
“I must have looked like crap. I wonder if everyone thought I looked sick?”
No, he explains, Don’t worry. I stare at you more than the others do,
“This is bad. I could be fired if I look drugged, glassy eyed, and pale with ratty hair. l think we need a code word in case I ever look so out of it again.
He quickly picks our code word. “Squirrel”
If you are with me and someone says, “squirrel” you and I will know I’m having a BAD day.