I’m back at status quo now. Thank you to all of you who DID NOT check on me but let me know that you cared in some way. You all are a crafty bunch and I give you major points for following my wishes while still sneakily making sure I was okay. Also, I’d like to point out that a good chunk of you who checked on me without checking on me are people I grew up with, people from my hometown. I’d like to point that out specifically because later on in this post, I’m going to throw a stranger from my hometown under the bus and I’d like to say something nice before I do that.
I really wanted to write a counter post to the last one, but the minute I mentioned it to a friend, she immediately said no, to not negate my feelings. She’s right. Those feelings, while not pretty, were real and I really felt them. But for now, I will say “The End” to the pity party.
Want to know how I’m celebrating my returned good mood? By going to abs class. The instructor has returned from his class reunion and while he didn’t show off any trophies he received for “Stomach Most Resembling a Plank”, he did bring some stories and residual guilt about all the cake he ate. The class members could acutely feel his guilt by minute six of his first class back because we were panting and snorting and grunting and sweating like warthogs. I finally asked in a high-pitched alarm “How much cake did you actually eat?!” He told us it was only two pieces but I call him a liar. No one inflects that much torture for two measly pieces of cake.
In other gym-related news, I’d like to tell you that Snooty Snothole Bianca with the Swishy Butt talked to me! Two days in a row, even. And of her own volition. When she began speaking I didn’t even notice. I thought the music piped into the locker room was interrupted for an announcement of some sort so I ignored it. But after a minute or so, I realized that her mouth and words were directed at me, and honestly, I didn’t know what to do with that. I stood there bundled up in my towel and matching undercrackers with my hair wadded around a curling iron and just looked at her. When my hair started to smoke I came back to my senses and responded; I’m not even sure what I said, I was so surprised. Turns out she’s thinking of joining another gym and she wanted me to know that it isn’t good for your hair to wash it every day. I could have lived my whole life without ever having those conversations, but whatever moved her was enough to break off that padlock she keeps over her lips, so I listened. It was the least I could do.
In non-gym-related news, we welcomed a new CFO to the company for which I work. I had no idea when he would make his initial visit but seeing as how I’m the face our visitors see first, I treat everyone nicely. Besides being the first impression of our corporate office, I also perform other functions that require me to be away from my desk. I have this handy little portable phone that I carry around and when my hands are full, it fits nicely in my cleavage, anchored in by my cute dresses with the elastic band around my chest. Easy access to the phone, close to my ear so I can hear it, and hands-free! You can probably see where this is going. The other day when the CFO came to the office for his initial introduction, I had been running around the office delivering mail, and I warmly greeted him, not having a clue it was our new CFO nor remembering that I had a phone stuck between my boobs. Welcome to new your office, Bossman!
I’d like to share (nearly) one last story before concluding. Martie works in a salon (glamorous!) in our hometown and as such, she hears and sees loads of things that make us blush or roll our eyes so far into the backs of our heads that we hurt ourselves. A couple of years ago, a man came into her shop and was complaining about a dish he had ordered at the single decent sit-down restaurant in the town. This is what he said:
“We went to Legend’s last night and they had salmon (pronounced SAL-mon) on the menu so I ordered it. They brought me this plate with what looked like a big ole piece of fish on it! <said in horror and confusion>. That didn’t look like no salmon (pronounced SAL-mon) I ever ate. I sent it back. Nasty.”
This, ladies and gentlemen, is where I grew up.
Also where I grew up is Poppa. He had some surgery recently in which all of his toes were broken and straightened and some bone was shaved off the bunion part of his foot. (Sorry about making your digestive tracts squeeze up in sympathy pain). He’s got these cool blue metal pins sticking out of his toes which make him look like Freddie Krueger and a super cool camouflage cast. But he’s had some complications from that surgery, he’s not doing well, and they are bringing him up to Vanderbilt as I type this. I’m worried about him, a lot, so I’m asking if you would think of him, pray for him, and send him some good thoughts. We love that man and we need for him to be okay.
Love, Jimmie 