Semi-Daily Scribbles

Euphemism

I wear above-the-knee skirts for those who can't. Stay in my lane? Ha! We don't need no stinkin' lanes. But every so often a cattle chute is useful. Hey, baby. Your authenticity is showing.

Misadventures Among the Cubicles

The best way to burn the candle at both ends is to go to bed early.

A colleague is mad at the world because he was observed sleeping at his desk by a visiting-from-out-of-town C-Level Executive. C-Level Executive decided she had room in her day planner to schedule a "Must Look at Attendance Records" for the group to which Sleepy reports. It was found out that Mad-at-the-World Colleague had been leaving his post early, arriving for duty late and playing fast and loose with the Company's vacation policy. And as luck would have it, the day Sleepy was found snoozing was also the day he wore pajamas to the office. Who's going to notice roomy, comfortable clothing when everyone's away celebrating Winter holidays? Apparently, visiting-from-out-of-town C-Level Executives with impeccable timing. If it were just a jammies thing, a brief conversation with the Team Leader would have been the end of the story. However, Sleepy's teammates are now under scrutiny; a fact which makes one particularly rebellious but punctual co-worker wonder what would happen if she were to show up tomorrow in the plaid flannel PJs she got for Christmas?

No More Toil

Hi Ivan,

Did you give me a watch because you knew you didn't have much time left? A kind gesture made poignant because your time did run out. The story is a family member found you. I hope you passed in your sleep, free of fear and pain. Maybe you dreamt of setting environment variables. Maybe you dreamt of a Louisiana-style feast surrounded by loved ones. You're doing both those things (not necessarily at the same time) right now, wherever you are.

I can't recall exactly what our last interaction was, but I think it involved a bit of plaid, a fist bump, and a "Have a good day, Miss T." Your smile and positive attitude were much needed reality checks in the odd, sombre place you spent your final work days. And your sense of style! A sharp dressed man you were indeed. You are missed.

Be at peace, friend.

Performance

Hey Phil,

I don't care you are a forerunner on the Fake News front. Good on ya, I say. You made a few coins, picked up a loyal batch of readers, and pulled one over on those who thought they picked up a few IQ points reading your hinterland dispatches. Though I will never know you, I do know what it's like inside a diseased mind. Truth is elusive, and can be 100% factual with a mere whiff of reality and a nice smile. Family and friends know you adhere to the loosest of rules when it comes to reporting on what's out there. My truth is: Your shittiest essays are better than what most best sellers peddle. Which brings me to the reason why I'm typing this:

The person who doesn't understand your pretty writing has lost out on having her soul shredded. Little bloody striplets of organs and bone left on the nightstand. That, pal o' mine, is a sure sign you've figured out how to use your words.

Do what you do to pay the rent. I'm good.

Tess

25

The Sales Associate asked what I was doing with the couple pair of jeans I had draped across my left arm.

"I'm on my way to the dressing room to try them on?"

"Go ahead," she said, "but show me when you're ready."

"Ok?"

"Trust me. I know how to size people. It's my job. When I saw you picking jeans from the wrong rack, I knew you needed help."

"I do? Well, here I go..." I ducked into the booth, pulled the striped curtain, slipped out of my old dudes Bermuda shorts and wriggled into one snug pair of skinnies.

"Show me," Aimee the S.A. said.

"Minute?" I replied, sotto voce. I gave myself the once-over in the full-length mirror and thought, Not bad! Swoosh went the curtain.

"Ta-da!" Aimee tilted her head as she pursed her lips. Her eyes went from my belly down to my ankles, and then back up to my belly. She stuck her index finger out in front of her and made a circular motion. I complied and demonstrated a rather wobbly pirouette. Aimee's pucker turned into a frown.

"Hitch your thumb inside the waistband. Let me see what kind of room you got." What? I wondered. This pair is painted on my ass as it is!

"Sure," I answered. For emphasis, I tugged on the waist to show Aimee I had a good 2" to spare.

"Take 'em off!"

"But they feel just right."

"You're not supposed to stretch the waist out that much. Those jeans are absolutely too big."

"But I like them."

"Wait for me in the dressing room. I've got a couple fits I want you to try. But I know I can get you into a 1." Aimee turned on her heel and headed for the back of the shop.

"A one what?" I called after her.

fresh, easy, approachable, evocative

Have I bought into any number of myths concerning beauty? Do I truly believe beauty comes in all shapes, shades, and sizes? Is everyone beautiful?

 

Sure.

 

I'm not going to lie. I have a huge crush on Charlotte and I wouldn't mind being tall and slim and very French. Hell, I don't wear makeup at all and I still want to buy this entire line. But then this is up next on my To Be Read List (if I can set aside my quest to become a Cool Girl long enough to pick up the book.) I'm eager to unpack and examine my definitions of health and feeling at peace in my own skin once I've explored stories different from my own. I'm even open to the possibility I'll discover some squicky revelations about myself. This is all in the name of education and the betterment of yours truly, yeah? My gut is telling me something different. Something along the lines of: Who wouldn't want to be a Size ... ?