Friday, November 12, 2004

 

Little Pitchers Have Big Ears


So, we're in the middle of getting ready to move house. I'm packing and I must say that my temper is ... well ... frayed. I was looking for a marker to write on one of the (two) boxes that I have so far managed to pack. My husband was being a dork, which is hardly surprising to anyone who knows him, and wouldn't help me find the marker. I finally said, loudly and impatiently "Just FIND the freakin' Sharpie!"

All of a sudden a small pink bombshell streaked past, seven or eight barettes in her hair, triumphantly screeching "I'm a freakin' snarpie!"

Heh. My daughter is now a "freakin' snarpie".

I'm going to have some serious explaining to do at daycare.

Little knitting has been accomplished. I can hardly even call this a knitting blog any more, however I shall continue to do so until they pry the Addis out of my cold, dead hands.

That being said, little writing has also been accomplished. However, I shall leave you with the next excerpt from my world-shattering novel. Please remember that you're reading the first draft here, and when I hit the day before deadline day, I'm going to be scrambling through everything I've already written and adding enough padding to make the required 50,000 words.

And so, from where we left off ...

*****

... took a firmer grip on my battered briefcase and exited the train at my station.

Upon arrival at the office, the entire incident slipped from my mind amidst my frenzied attempts to fabricate some sort of crap to present to the client. I had an hour left before their arrival; hardly long enough to write a presentation. I briefly considered using the first half of the hour to drink the overcooked coffee sitting in the pot in the staff lunchroom and the second half to write a suicide note, culminating in my spectacular leap through the boardroom window in front of the horrified eyes of the client.

I remembered just in time that my office was on the second floor. The most likely outcome of such a course of action would be that I would bounce embarrassingly off the plate-glass window and have to sit on the floor in my snagged panty-hose and last week’s blouse with a mouse on my forehead and then have to try to explain my actions. I could hardly expect to pass it off as a visual enactment of my award-winning advertising campaign. And if in fact I managed to get through the window, the brief plummet to the grass plot below the window would, at best, result in a broken leg or sprained ankle.

Neither scenario would produce a workable presentation or a good enough excuse for the fact that, through my wretched self-indulgence and advanced slackage, I had absolutely nothing to give them. I opted instead for supping of the burned coffee accompanied by riffling through previous presentations and faster-than-light cutting and pasting into some sort of document.

I did, however, take a brief moment to reflect on the fact that DeliMan was, in fact, worth this entire mess. Never underestimate the gratification of satisfying a dangerously pre-menopausal libido.


Comments:
So glad to see you back Rabbitch! And I hope your moving goes slowly. Be careful moving shit and try and make your hubby do most of the work. hehe.

Looking forward to you being settled and entertaining us again!
 
Well it's about time you showed your face around here. We were wondering where you were!

I hate moving, bleah. Hope things settle down soon :)
 
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