I was so very bad the other day. Very.
A return client visited my booth at the psychic fair. She said my predictions pretty much panned out last year.
She wanted to know about a possible relationship, and I obliged her by using my clairvoyant abilities. I focused on a piece of paper, waited for the image to appear, and quickly traced it, then filled in the details. It was an image of her next squeeze.
No sooner had I put the pencil down than I spied what I was sure was the subject of the drawing just entering the venue. Out of the side of my mouth, I said “Look, over there! Go on, look!”
He came and stood in front of my table in record time, while I was reading the client. It isn’t the usual etiquette. The readings are considered to be private. Yet, he appeared to be perusing my literature.
All of a sudden, I squealed and pointed to a particular card.
witchypoo: “Oh, look! Great sex for you!”
guy in front of table: “Pick me, pick me!”
client: “I don’t embarrass easily, but you have managed it.”
guy in front of table: “My, my, you are a beautiful shade of red.”
witchypoo, still talking out of side of her mouth: “Look at the drawing, look at him.”
client (hiding picture, face still flaming, hissing): “I wouldn’t be able to look at him if he camped on my doorstep now.”
Guy moves on after some awkwardness.
witchypoo: “He was totally into you.”
I’m not sure she will be back next year.
