LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your head is full of conflicting ideas and opinions early today, which isn’t much fun — but the afternoon brings a new clarity. You may want to get your people to try for consensus one last time.
Laura’s Log:
I was invited into a team meeting on a new campaign this morning. An honor, according to Tamara (who, by the way, is talking to me again, having gotten over my weekend escapade with Katherine—things still unresolved with Nadia). I get it. I’m the lowly new assistant. I should be grateful to be included even if my role was simply to record every brainstormed idea, good, bad or completely off topic.
I just wish my first team meeting involved something more exciting than toilet paper. Things began with an attack on the animated commercials with the bear and quickly went down Memory Lane with Mr. Whipple. YouTube has its purpose in advertising, but it can be just as much of a distracter as Facebook. Under the “off topic” column, I had to note the group’s viewing of Crystal Bowersox’s “People Get Ready” performance on Idol last night. Sure, she’s good, but I had things to take care of at my desk—paper clips to untangle and all.
They sent me to London Drugs to pick up samples of all the leading toilet paper brands, including that of our client. At the checkout, I must have looked like either the world’s oldest high school student getting ready to TP all my friends’ yards or a sad woman with a severe diarrhea problem. Yea, team. Thanks for that.
Back in the meeting room, they sniffed, squeezed and unraveled roll after roll and got into an intense argument about how direct you could be about TP residue on arses in an ad campaign. Shortly after someone said, “Just shave your ass and the problem’s gone” the meeting devolved into a discussion about manscaping before petering out altogether. I was thrilled to return to my desk area—right after I cleaned up the TP, including the mess left from when Cal and Warren decided to mummify Lenny. They give out college degrees to easily these days.
When they decided to reconvene after lunch, I tried my best to get out of attending. Turns out team players can’t defect. They fell into a conversation about symbols of softness: bunnies, cotton balls, Lenny’s belly. That last idea was my cue to jump in. “Guys, the softness thing has been done to death. I’m sorry, dearly departed Mr. Whipple, but nobody squeezes toilet paper in the grocery store. People EXPECT it to be soft. Find something else to make the product stand out.”
Silence. People stared at me. I’d spoken when I wasn’t supposed to. And then Lenny (of all people) said, “Laura’s got a point.” Validation. Sure, Lenny was probably just tired of being the target of sophomoric jokes and pranks, but it was good enough for me.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
5:30 A.M. & I WAS WIDE AWAKE. SHOULD I GO FOR A JOG? YEAH, WEDNESDAYS ARE MY RUNNING GROUP EVENING, BUT I DIDN’T FEEL LIKE PART OF THE GROUP DURING THE LAST SESSION. I LOATHE LOGAN.
I GOT UP, PUT ON SHORTS & A T-SHIRT, STARTED TO STRETCH. BIGGEST STRETCH CAME FROM MY MOUTH. ALL THAT YAWNING AND I DECIDED TO GO BACK TO BED. I’D FACE THE LADIES (AND LOGAN) AFTER ALL.
SURE ENOUGH, HE SHOWED AGAIN. HOW COULD HE NOT AFTER A HAREM FAWNING OVER HIM LAST WEEK? ONE OF THE MELISSAS ACKNOWLEDGED ME WHEN I ARRIVED, EVEN ASKED IF I HAD DECIDED ON THE SUN RUN. TRUTHFULLY, I WASN’T PLANNING ON SIGNING UP BUT SHE ROPED ME INTO PAYING AND BEING PART OF “OUR” TEAM. ANYTHING JUST TO FEEL PART OF THE CONVERSATION.
GOD, THEY PUBLISH YOUR RESULTS IN THE PAPER, DON’T THEY? AH, WHY WORRY? WHO DO I KNOW THAT WLD BOTHER TO LOOK UP MY NAME?
Showing posts with label running group. Show all posts
Showing posts with label running group. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
LOVE DON’T LIVE HERE ANYMORE
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You are in a really good place right now — especially if you are seeking to reinvigorate your love life! You look and act as appealing as anyone could ask for, so make sure the right person is watching.
Laura’s Log:
Head scratcher of a horoscope today. Couldn’t be more off if it had told me to pull out the hammer and nails and start a birdhouse building hobby. Strange emotional episodes notwithstanding, I’m not looking to “reinvigorate” things with Gabriel. And I’m having a really bad hair day and I (once again) spilled my latté on my white blouse so I don’t get the comment that I “look and act as appealing as anyone could ask for”. Is the Laura standard that low?!
I’m in a snit at the moment. It’s part Pity Party, part Divorce My Family reverie. After Tuesday’s disastrous attempt at mediating the latest sisterly feud, Lucy and Estelle peppered me with phone calls yesterday, not requesting another round of peace talks, but wanting to persuade me that the other sister was the insane, inflexible, insensitive one. Can’t we just call it a tie?
Just as I sat down with a bowl of organic, low-fat popcorn to find out which Idols were getting the boot, the phone rang yet again. Which one this time? Unfortunately, it was neither. That’s right: unfortunately. Sister crazy is at least predictable. Don’t really have to say anything. Let ’em rant.
“Uh, hi there. Is this Laura Nebergall?” Shaky voice. Male. I could sense the nervous sweat oozing through the airwaves.
“Who’s calling?” A first time telemarketer? A repentant Derrick? The creepy neighbor who sneezes and hugs the wall every time I pass him in the hall? Did he have my mail? Please tell me he didn’t paw my Entertainment Weekly!
“Uh, well, you don’t, uh, know me, but my mom told me to, uh, give you a call. Your mom gave, uh, my mom your, uh, number. My mom said you’d be, uh, expecting, uh, my, uh, my, uh, you know,…my call.”
Ah, the highly desirable Betty Ng’s son. Still didn’t have a first name.
Ten minutes later, he finally thought to introduce himself. Jacky Uh Ng. Not sure if he meant to divulge the middle name. Probably spilled it in a fit of anxiety. Didn’t find out what he does for a living, but he’s big on backgammon, Ping Pong and Céline Dion. The last fact came as her version of “All By Myself” blared on repeat in the background. Okay, it could be my theme song too, but who advertises that when calling to ask someone out?
He finally got the courage up to ask me to “coffee or a ride on the Skytrain.” Since when was a ride on Skytrain a date? Skytrain as a destination, not a mode of transportation! As odd as Jacky came across, it was painful to have to decline. “I’m just getting out of a relationship. I’m not ready to date again.”
“Oh, uh, of course. I’m uh sorry.” And cue dial tone. Poor guy. I’m sure he had to go shower.
Maybe rejecting Jacky explained today’s bad karma: my bad hair, my stained blouse, my lingering tummy lump from last night’s entire bag of mini chocolate brownies scarfed down as I bid adieu to (Ugly) Betty, my cruel horoscope. Indeed, maybe I needed to start seeing the world from the low Laura standard.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
DECENT RUN LAST NITE. I’VE FIRMLY ESTABLISHED MY PLACE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PACK. MIGHT AS WELL HAVE RUN ON MY OWN THOUGH. MADDIE AND THE OTHERS BARELY ACKNOWLEDGED ME.
A NEW GUY SHOWED UP. LOGAN. PERFECT NAME BECAUSE CLEARLY THIS WAS LOGAN’S RUN. BLOND, BLUE-EYED AND LANKY WITH NO TRACE OF AN AFFINITY FOR BEER, HE HAD THE WOMEN SWOONING ALL OVER HIM.
I INSTANTLY HATED LOGAN. OF COURSE, MY OPINION WASN’T WHAT MATTERED. HE SPED OFF WITH THE FRONT GROUP, ALREADY DONE HIS COFFEE BY THE TIME I HOBBLED IN. MARGIE BOUGHT HIM ANOTHER. NOT EVEN COFFEE—EFFIN’ STEAMED NONFAT MILK!
“OOH, THAT SOUNDS SO GOOD!” ONE OF THE MELISSAS COOED. SUDDENLY EVERYONE WAS SIPPING HOT WATERY MILK. IT WAS THEN I REALIZED I WAS LACTOSE INTOLERANT. I POURED MY CAPPUCCINO INTO A TO-GO CUP AND LEFT.
NOT THAT ANYONE NOTICED.
YEP, I LOATHE LOGAN. RUNNING GROUP CRASHER!
Laura’s Log:
Head scratcher of a horoscope today. Couldn’t be more off if it had told me to pull out the hammer and nails and start a birdhouse building hobby. Strange emotional episodes notwithstanding, I’m not looking to “reinvigorate” things with Gabriel. And I’m having a really bad hair day and I (once again) spilled my latté on my white blouse so I don’t get the comment that I “look and act as appealing as anyone could ask for”. Is the Laura standard that low?!
I’m in a snit at the moment. It’s part Pity Party, part Divorce My Family reverie. After Tuesday’s disastrous attempt at mediating the latest sisterly feud, Lucy and Estelle peppered me with phone calls yesterday, not requesting another round of peace talks, but wanting to persuade me that the other sister was the insane, inflexible, insensitive one. Can’t we just call it a tie?
Just as I sat down with a bowl of organic, low-fat popcorn to find out which Idols were getting the boot, the phone rang yet again. Which one this time? Unfortunately, it was neither. That’s right: unfortunately. Sister crazy is at least predictable. Don’t really have to say anything. Let ’em rant.
“Uh, hi there. Is this Laura Nebergall?” Shaky voice. Male. I could sense the nervous sweat oozing through the airwaves.
“Who’s calling?” A first time telemarketer? A repentant Derrick? The creepy neighbor who sneezes and hugs the wall every time I pass him in the hall? Did he have my mail? Please tell me he didn’t paw my Entertainment Weekly!
“Uh, well, you don’t, uh, know me, but my mom told me to, uh, give you a call. Your mom gave, uh, my mom your, uh, number. My mom said you’d be, uh, expecting, uh, my, uh, my, uh, you know,…my call.”
Ah, the highly desirable Betty Ng’s son. Still didn’t have a first name.
Ten minutes later, he finally thought to introduce himself. Jacky Uh Ng. Not sure if he meant to divulge the middle name. Probably spilled it in a fit of anxiety. Didn’t find out what he does for a living, but he’s big on backgammon, Ping Pong and Céline Dion. The last fact came as her version of “All By Myself” blared on repeat in the background. Okay, it could be my theme song too, but who advertises that when calling to ask someone out?
He finally got the courage up to ask me to “coffee or a ride on the Skytrain.” Since when was a ride on Skytrain a date? Skytrain as a destination, not a mode of transportation! As odd as Jacky came across, it was painful to have to decline. “I’m just getting out of a relationship. I’m not ready to date again.”
“Oh, uh, of course. I’m uh sorry.” And cue dial tone. Poor guy. I’m sure he had to go shower.
Maybe rejecting Jacky explained today’s bad karma: my bad hair, my stained blouse, my lingering tummy lump from last night’s entire bag of mini chocolate brownies scarfed down as I bid adieu to (Ugly) Betty, my cruel horoscope. Indeed, maybe I needed to start seeing the world from the low Laura standard.
KEN’S JOURNAL:
DECENT RUN LAST NITE. I’VE FIRMLY ESTABLISHED MY PLACE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PACK. MIGHT AS WELL HAVE RUN ON MY OWN THOUGH. MADDIE AND THE OTHERS BARELY ACKNOWLEDGED ME.
A NEW GUY SHOWED UP. LOGAN. PERFECT NAME BECAUSE CLEARLY THIS WAS LOGAN’S RUN. BLOND, BLUE-EYED AND LANKY WITH NO TRACE OF AN AFFINITY FOR BEER, HE HAD THE WOMEN SWOONING ALL OVER HIM.
I INSTANTLY HATED LOGAN. OF COURSE, MY OPINION WASN’T WHAT MATTERED. HE SPED OFF WITH THE FRONT GROUP, ALREADY DONE HIS COFFEE BY THE TIME I HOBBLED IN. MARGIE BOUGHT HIM ANOTHER. NOT EVEN COFFEE—EFFIN’ STEAMED NONFAT MILK!
“OOH, THAT SOUNDS SO GOOD!” ONE OF THE MELISSAS COOED. SUDDENLY EVERYONE WAS SIPPING HOT WATERY MILK. IT WAS THEN I REALIZED I WAS LACTOSE INTOLERANT. I POURED MY CAPPUCCINO INTO A TO-GO CUP AND LEFT.
NOT THAT ANYONE NOTICED.
YEP, I LOATHE LOGAN. RUNNING GROUP CRASHER!
Thursday, March 11, 2010
A KINK IN DATING…OR KINKY DATING?
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your energy provides all the good times you need today — so run with it! You may acquire a few followers, who are all too likely to make life even sweeter, at least for the time being.
Laura’s Log:
Gabriel has a roommate. It wasn’t a factor during our first date. Chris was in Calgary on business. But Chris staked out the living room last night for “American Idol” and whatever crime show followed. (What is with all the crime shows? How many splattered blood scenes with loitering police detectives do people need to intake each week?)
It felt like university, sneaking off to a dorm room as we continued our elevator foreplay in the bedroom. Even more so on account of the coed atmosphere. Turns out Chris is a woman.
Okay, so I don’t entirely believe Billy Crystal’s assertion in “When Harry Met Sally” that men and women can never be just friends. But still, it was uncomfortable flinging my blouse on the floor as another woman was a wall away. Exchanging forced smiles as I wore Gabriel’s robe and headed for the shower didn’t help. The sex was good, not great. And that’s a major letdown from Opening Night.
I blame Chris. Everything was muted, the motions more contained. (The bed squeaks, after all.) Okay, I blame Gabriel, too. Thirty-five-year-old men should not have roommates and most certainly not of the female variety. What’s cool in college is a potential relationship buster more than a decade later.
I should take a timeout, but we’re on again for tonight. (Did I mention it’s been two years since my last romp?) It’s going to have to wind up at my place though. Sure, Tupper will hump his leg, but I’ll put on “The Dog Whisperer”, toss a rawhide chewie and Gabriel and I can work on our own animal ritual.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
WENT BACK TO THE FORERUNNERS GROUP LAST NIGHT. I WAS DETERMINED NOT TO BE LEFT IN THE WOMEN’S WAKE THIS TIME. STRETCHED FOR 15 MIN EVEN B/F HEADING OVER. CALF MUSCLE FELT FINE.
I AM PLEASED TO SAY THAT I MANAGED TO KEEP UP…WITH THE STRAGGLERS, AT LEAST. KATE IS A LOVELY 72 YEAR-OLD GRANDMOTHER WHO TALKED AT LENGTH ABOUT DOING A WATERFALL JIGSAW PUZZLE WITH HER 9 YEAR-OLD GRANDSON WHO BLOCKED ALL CONVERSATION WITH HIS IPOD AND MINERVA IS A 66 YEAR-OLD CHURCH ORGANIST WHO IS RECOVERING FROM HIP SURGERY & PLANNING TO CLIMB MOUNT KILIMANJARO IN LATE SUMMER. (OK, CONFESSION. I MADE UP THE MTN CLIMBING THING. THE EGO IS STILL FRAGILE.) WE MADE A LOVELY RUNNING TRIO. I’M SO GLAD IT STILL GETS DARK EARLY. (DON’T KNOW WHAT I’LL DO W/THE TIME CHANGE NEXT WEEK.)
KATE AND MINERVA HAD TO DASH AFTER THE RUN—SOMETHING ABOUT BRIDGE GROUP AND A GARDENING CLUB SLIDE SHOW—BUT I CAUGHT UP WITH THE REST OF THE WOMEN FOR COFFEE.
“IT WAS SO NICE OF YOU TO STAY BACK WITH THE OLDER LADIES,” MADDIE SAID, DULY IMPRESSED. “SUCH A GENTLEMAN!”
YEAH, THAT’S IT. NO FRICKIN’ WAY I WAS GONNA CORRECT HER. SHE EVEN GAVE ME HER NUMBER AFTER I FEIGNED INTEREST IN THE DA VINCI EXHIBIT AT THE VANCOUVER ART GALLERY. CHECKED THE WEBSITE WHEN I GOT HOME. ANATOMICAL DRAWINGS. SOUNDS LIKE A SNOOZER. DON’T BELIEVE ME? CHECK OUT THIS, RIGHT OF THE SITE, INTENDED TO DRUM UP INTEREST:
INCLUDED ARE THE FIRST KNOWN ACCURATE DEPICTIONS OF THE SPINAL COLUMN AND TWO MAGISTERIAL SHEETS DEPICTING THE MUSCULATURE OF THE LOWER LEGS AND FEET.
ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! WHAT IS SHE, A FOOT FETISHIST?
OKAY, IT LOOKS LIKE I’VE GOT A DATE, BUT HOW CAN SOMETHING GROW FROM GAZING AT SKETCHES OF LOWER LEGS AND FEET? TALK ABOUT A POST-OLYMPICS LETDOWN!
Laura’s Log:
Gabriel has a roommate. It wasn’t a factor during our first date. Chris was in Calgary on business. But Chris staked out the living room last night for “American Idol” and whatever crime show followed. (What is with all the crime shows? How many splattered blood scenes with loitering police detectives do people need to intake each week?)
It felt like university, sneaking off to a dorm room as we continued our elevator foreplay in the bedroom. Even more so on account of the coed atmosphere. Turns out Chris is a woman.
Okay, so I don’t entirely believe Billy Crystal’s assertion in “When Harry Met Sally” that men and women can never be just friends. But still, it was uncomfortable flinging my blouse on the floor as another woman was a wall away. Exchanging forced smiles as I wore Gabriel’s robe and headed for the shower didn’t help. The sex was good, not great. And that’s a major letdown from Opening Night.
I blame Chris. Everything was muted, the motions more contained. (The bed squeaks, after all.) Okay, I blame Gabriel, too. Thirty-five-year-old men should not have roommates and most certainly not of the female variety. What’s cool in college is a potential relationship buster more than a decade later.
I should take a timeout, but we’re on again for tonight. (Did I mention it’s been two years since my last romp?) It’s going to have to wind up at my place though. Sure, Tupper will hump his leg, but I’ll put on “The Dog Whisperer”, toss a rawhide chewie and Gabriel and I can work on our own animal ritual.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
WENT BACK TO THE FORERUNNERS GROUP LAST NIGHT. I WAS DETERMINED NOT TO BE LEFT IN THE WOMEN’S WAKE THIS TIME. STRETCHED FOR 15 MIN EVEN B/F HEADING OVER. CALF MUSCLE FELT FINE.
I AM PLEASED TO SAY THAT I MANAGED TO KEEP UP…WITH THE STRAGGLERS, AT LEAST. KATE IS A LOVELY 72 YEAR-OLD GRANDMOTHER WHO TALKED AT LENGTH ABOUT DOING A WATERFALL JIGSAW PUZZLE WITH HER 9 YEAR-OLD GRANDSON WHO BLOCKED ALL CONVERSATION WITH HIS IPOD AND MINERVA IS A 66 YEAR-OLD CHURCH ORGANIST WHO IS RECOVERING FROM HIP SURGERY & PLANNING TO CLIMB MOUNT KILIMANJARO IN LATE SUMMER. (OK, CONFESSION. I MADE UP THE MTN CLIMBING THING. THE EGO IS STILL FRAGILE.) WE MADE A LOVELY RUNNING TRIO. I’M SO GLAD IT STILL GETS DARK EARLY. (DON’T KNOW WHAT I’LL DO W/THE TIME CHANGE NEXT WEEK.)
KATE AND MINERVA HAD TO DASH AFTER THE RUN—SOMETHING ABOUT BRIDGE GROUP AND A GARDENING CLUB SLIDE SHOW—BUT I CAUGHT UP WITH THE REST OF THE WOMEN FOR COFFEE.
“IT WAS SO NICE OF YOU TO STAY BACK WITH THE OLDER LADIES,” MADDIE SAID, DULY IMPRESSED. “SUCH A GENTLEMAN!”
YEAH, THAT’S IT. NO FRICKIN’ WAY I WAS GONNA CORRECT HER. SHE EVEN GAVE ME HER NUMBER AFTER I FEIGNED INTEREST IN THE DA VINCI EXHIBIT AT THE VANCOUVER ART GALLERY. CHECKED THE WEBSITE WHEN I GOT HOME. ANATOMICAL DRAWINGS. SOUNDS LIKE A SNOOZER. DON’T BELIEVE ME? CHECK OUT THIS, RIGHT OF THE SITE, INTENDED TO DRUM UP INTEREST:
INCLUDED ARE THE FIRST KNOWN ACCURATE DEPICTIONS OF THE SPINAL COLUMN AND TWO MAGISTERIAL SHEETS DEPICTING THE MUSCULATURE OF THE LOWER LEGS AND FEET.
ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! WHAT IS SHE, A FOOT FETISHIST?
OKAY, IT LOOKS LIKE I’VE GOT A DATE, BUT HOW CAN SOMETHING GROW FROM GAZING AT SKETCHES OF LOWER LEGS AND FEET? TALK ABOUT A POST-OLYMPICS LETDOWN!
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
STRETCH & STRAIN
March 3, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): There's no sense in hoarding all that great social energy -- it's flowing through you and needs an outlet! Make new friends or find someone who needs a lift, as you can improve any mood.
Laura’s Log:
My role at the funeral home seems vague. I think Theodore just likes the company. I suppose if my life were surrounded by corpses, I’d feel the same way. The service this morning was SRO. Beforehand, people were spilling over into the office, eager to share with anyone—that’s me—an anecdote about Mrs. Millicent Bowry-Jacobs, daughter, wife, sister, teacher, friend booster. Hearing them talk, I wanted so much to have known this woman. And I wanted to be part of the circle of love that she brought out. They were clearly distraught and yet the positive memories seemed to overtake each person I encountered.
Except for the plumber. Yes, Richard stopped by before AND after the service. “You can call me Dick,” he said, attempting to be lewd. At a funeral. Nice. I have a feeling Millicent did everything she could to put Dick in his place.
He asked me out, of course. Down, Dick, down. It was the one time when “no” came out of my mouth with the greatest of ease.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
SHOWED UP TO THE FORERUNNERS GROUP & WAS IMMEDIATELY EMBARRASSED. “IS THIS A WOMEN’S GROUP?” I ASKED.
“OH, NO,” SAID A VERY CHEERY FORTY-FIVE-YEAR-OLD FLIGHT ATTENDANT TYPE. “RON USUALLY COMES. BUT LESLIE SAYS HE HAS SHIN SPLINTS.”
“SO I’M IT?” AND THEN, IN MY HEAD: I’M IT! MY GOD! NO COMPETITION! IT WAS LIKE SOMEONE SNUCK ME INTO THE SORORITY HOUSE. OR THE SORORITY MOMS’ HOUSE. INTRODUCTIONS CAME IN A FLURRY. MEG, MARGIE, MADDIE, TWO MELISSAS. WHAT’S W/ALL THE Ms? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KEEP IT ALL STRAIGHT?
NO NEED FOR CONCERN. ONCE WE STARTED THE RUN, THE LADIES LEFT ME IN THEIR WAKE. EMBARRASSING ONCE AGAIN. MALE EGO CRUSHED. AND A SERIOUS CALF CRAMP.
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): There's no sense in hoarding all that great social energy -- it's flowing through you and needs an outlet! Make new friends or find someone who needs a lift, as you can improve any mood.
Laura’s Log:
My role at the funeral home seems vague. I think Theodore just likes the company. I suppose if my life were surrounded by corpses, I’d feel the same way. The service this morning was SRO. Beforehand, people were spilling over into the office, eager to share with anyone—that’s me—an anecdote about Mrs. Millicent Bowry-Jacobs, daughter, wife, sister, teacher, friend booster. Hearing them talk, I wanted so much to have known this woman. And I wanted to be part of the circle of love that she brought out. They were clearly distraught and yet the positive memories seemed to overtake each person I encountered.
Except for the plumber. Yes, Richard stopped by before AND after the service. “You can call me Dick,” he said, attempting to be lewd. At a funeral. Nice. I have a feeling Millicent did everything she could to put Dick in his place.
He asked me out, of course. Down, Dick, down. It was the one time when “no” came out of my mouth with the greatest of ease.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via BlackBerry):
SHOWED UP TO THE FORERUNNERS GROUP & WAS IMMEDIATELY EMBARRASSED. “IS THIS A WOMEN’S GROUP?” I ASKED.
“OH, NO,” SAID A VERY CHEERY FORTY-FIVE-YEAR-OLD FLIGHT ATTENDANT TYPE. “RON USUALLY COMES. BUT LESLIE SAYS HE HAS SHIN SPLINTS.”
“SO I’M IT?” AND THEN, IN MY HEAD: I’M IT! MY GOD! NO COMPETITION! IT WAS LIKE SOMEONE SNUCK ME INTO THE SORORITY HOUSE. OR THE SORORITY MOMS’ HOUSE. INTRODUCTIONS CAME IN A FLURRY. MEG, MARGIE, MADDIE, TWO MELISSAS. WHAT’S W/ALL THE Ms? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KEEP IT ALL STRAIGHT?
NO NEED FOR CONCERN. ONCE WE STARTED THE RUN, THE LADIES LEFT ME IN THEIR WAKE. EMBARRASSING ONCE AGAIN. MALE EGO CRUSHED. AND A SERIOUS CALF CRAMP.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)