Laryngitis. It’s a bitch. Enough said. Primarily because I can’t say anything. All I can do is wheeze and gesticulate my way through a conversation. Telephones are a little more challenging. I did not call in sick. I’m amazed with myself. It would appear I’m growing up. Having said that I did manage to infect 3 people that I know of at work, and at least two outside of work.
Speaking of growing up. It’s my Birthday, or the Happiest Day of My Mothers Life. Hindsight's 20/20 am I right? So I was bitching to Polkadot via text about something, and she made a comment about my birthday creeping up on me. I said it wasn’t so much creeping as it was lying in wait. Which reminds me, the reason I text her was because of this dis-tress-ing piece of information. I was sorting through a mountain of denim, deciding what the most pleasing formation on the table would be. When all of a sudden a glaring long thread nestled smugly betwixt the jeans. I pulled at it and in no time realized it was not a thread, but a strand of my hair. My beautiful long blonde . . . . . . . hang on! I psst’d to my co-worker and in a panicked ear-splitting whisper bleated out the words “BLONDE OR GREY?! . . . . . . . BLONDE OR GREY!?” . . . . . . silence and some inspection took place and the sweet young thing in front of me said matter-of-factly “it's white.”
I could have wrung her lithe 18 year old neck. So ladies and germs, my first grey . . . oh I’m sorry, white hair.
It’s really difficult to convey urgency and anger when the only sound you can make sends dogs into hysterics. I probably should have called in sick Monday. But I couldn’t you see, because it was my contract negotiation meeting. Huzzah! Overall it went well, I am now the proud owner of a slightly revised title: Visual Merchandising and Graphics Manager. This is good news, and I think we all know how often I have good news to share. I do in-fact have more good news, but you’ll all find out about that in about 9 months . . . hardy har har.
Seriously though. Pregnancy. I could use some 'Mat Leave' and who doesn’t want priority seating on the bus? And lets not forget the joy of bringing life into the worl . . . . never-mind. I can’t even keep a straight face. So back to real life. Prams and strollers on the bus anger me. Take an effing cab. Between the 400lb dude sitting across from me and the mother to my left 5 regular size people have been displaced. Well I mean the bus is disgusting, they deserve to be on it. I don’t. I had a friend who used to say “friends don’t let friends ride public transit” that was a nice thought . . . . before the luster faded and I ended up back on the bus. Naturally, seated next to the wally who barks into his mobile in broken English . . . and fluent Quebecois. I cranked my Jethro Tull and could still hear his grunting over the whine of Ian Anderson. Hate. But fortunately the work week is almost over, and another weekend quietly and mysteriously descends. Anything could happen . . . ? And by anything I mean laundry.
Tune in next time to find out the positive and typically negative effects of three 6 foot blondes let loose in a city over 48 hours.