Last week, I'd just stepped out of the shower when the door thing buzzed. I was in a bad, bad mood. I irritably answered, expecting that it would be a mistake. It was Angela. The Census lady. Still wet and naked, not in the mood to talk to anyone, particularly not someone I wasn't expecting (--she told me something had been mailed to me, but I hadn't received it), I snarled that I wasn't available and hung up. Not my kindest moment ever.
A couple of days ago I found a letter propped outside my door. I scanned it and tossed it on my desk, unread.
So today, just back from having noodles with my boss and her daughters at Zao in U-Village, I realized that once again I had forgotten to bring up the new container of kitty litter. I grabbed some trash, scooped some litter and had my hand on the door when it buzzed. Hrm.
It was Angela. Feeling bad about the short treatment I gave her last time, I said I'd meet her downstairs. She was a nice woman, about my age. I made her run after me for a bit while I tossed trash and gathered the new kitty litter from my car, then had her follow me upstairs and gave her orange juice because I'd made her all winded.
Patiently endured a series of ridiculous questions about home and appliances. She was very nice and funny and didn't hold my previous bitchiness against me (for which I apologized). I snarked my way through the questions, answering as honestly as some of the questions allowed. She announced at the end that I was FUN. Always nice to hear.
Also, she said I didn't look 32. That always scores bonus points. Whee.
Which reminds me of dinner with Judy and John last week. When they were torturing me about, "And how old are you now?" I gave Greg a pitiful look and he, without a moment's hesitation, pronounced that I was 29. Purrrr. Of course he's clearly sold his soul to the devil, because he looks like he's 33 and is 43.
A couple of days ago I found a letter propped outside my door. I scanned it and tossed it on my desk, unread.
So today, just back from having noodles with my boss and her daughters at Zao in U-Village, I realized that once again I had forgotten to bring up the new container of kitty litter. I grabbed some trash, scooped some litter and had my hand on the door when it buzzed. Hrm.
It was Angela. Feeling bad about the short treatment I gave her last time, I said I'd meet her downstairs. She was a nice woman, about my age. I made her run after me for a bit while I tossed trash and gathered the new kitty litter from my car, then had her follow me upstairs and gave her orange juice because I'd made her all winded.
Patiently endured a series of ridiculous questions about home and appliances. She was very nice and funny and didn't hold my previous bitchiness against me (for which I apologized). I snarked my way through the questions, answering as honestly as some of the questions allowed. She announced at the end that I was FUN. Always nice to hear.
Also, she said I didn't look 32. That always scores bonus points. Whee.
Which reminds me of dinner with Judy and John last week. When they were torturing me about, "And how old are you now?" I gave Greg a pitiful look and he, without a moment's hesitation, pronounced that I was 29. Purrrr. Of course he's clearly sold his soul to the devil, because he looks like he's 33 and is 43.
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