And if not tomorrow, Saturday for sure.
Last week several of our vendors stopped by the office to deliver tax-time survival baskets. I didn't know we
had vendors. I still don't know what they "vend", exactly. Numbers? Here's a free pen, call if you need any nines? But hey, free stuff is free stuff. And then I looked in the baskets. Eye drops. Tylenol. Theraflu. Rolaids. I think there was a hand grenade near the bottom. While my accountant brethren fought over the Halls and the Visine, I scrounged for something edible that wasn't a chewable caplet. I unearthed a single pack of gum and New Girl read the label over my shoulder.
"'Exotic flavor'? Try it," she said, "see if it tastes like a bird." Then she made a noise like a macaw whereupon I immediately asked her to marry me. She said no. So I settled for trying the gum.
"Well, do you feel like you just brushed your teeth?" she asked.
"No," I said. But since I hadn't actually brushed my teeth that morning I knew any
clean feeling was going to be a long shot. In the interest of communal office space I left that part out. "But I don't feel like I just chewed up a tropical bird, either, so it's a push."
Then I stole the gum so I could take a picture of it. It's pretty good gum. The end.
It's been almost two months since I
slammed my thumb in the back door of the house.
I don't know which is worse: my smashed and battered thumbnail, or that my thumb in general looks like it just weakly climbed out of a month-long sitz bath. I never realized that I have enough extra thumb skin to make a short robe. At this rate Thumb should be back to normal in time to hastily shield my eyes when I forget and stare directly into the next
solar eclipse.
The
weird brown ice chest continues to not be a package. But each day brings fresh hope.
I bet tomorrow's the day it's a UPS package and not a cooler. I can't wait to see what I get!
