I had a feeling this was going to be a rough start when I had to grab a full box of Kleenex on my way to work today and went through half the box before I hit the parking lot of my building. I’m convinced that I will need to hire a germ squad to come and remove the kleenex that is littering the floor of my car.
It’s ugly, folks.
On top of that, I’m scaring people because I am stubbornly insisting on making coffee.
“Good morning!” they sing.
“Gob mooring,” I reply.
“Tired, huh?” they ask.
“No, I hab a code.”
“Crap. Sorry to hear that,” they tell me as they notice that I’m fondling the coffee filter packet, fumbling with the machine because dammit if the pot wasn’t empty already when I went to get a cup. “Are you making coffee?” they ask. Nervousness. Sheer and utter nervousness is in their voice.
“Don’t worry,” I tell them with some embarrassment *achoo!* “I washed my hamds really well.”
“Yeah, sure,” their eyes tell me, as they turn and walk out of the room.
What they really say is “Zicam. It works wonders.”
Zicam. I make a mental note to myself and vow that if I’m still here at lunch that Zicam and I have a date. I hope it doesn’t matter that I’m not looking/feeling my best. I do so love to make a good first impression.
