[Plaintiff Attorney] picked up his check. And called me “sweetie”. Does he call everybody “sweetie”, or am I just special? Do I get to call him “shorty” the next time he comes into the office? Or should I just tell him that the only guy who gets to call me “sweetie” is my husband, and is he tendering an offer? [OK, I feel better.]
My attorney’s response:
Calls me “little girl”…guess he likes you better than me. [She is half again as tall as this
I will be prepared, if and when he comes to the office in the future. Bless his heart.
I was prepared a couple of weeks ago, when a deposition ended and a different plaintiff attorney came out of the conference room and prefaced his question with a pause and then, “I know I’m going to regret asking you this, but could you call me a cab?”
Without missing a beat, I grinned at him and said, “You’re a cab.”
Says he, “I knew you were going to do that.”
Says I, “I have been waiting more than 20 years to use that line. Thank you. You’ve made my day.”
“You’re welcome. And would you mind calling the cab company for me?” We were both laughing that hard, silent laughter that makes your ribs ache. Now there is a man with a functional sense of humor!
I called Brother Sushi while I was stuck in traffic last night, to confirm that dinner was still on for tomorrow night. It’s his month to buy. He asked if I had any preferences. I told him, “surprise me”. And then I asked if my “dontcha” shirt would be appropriate, and he said it would not, not for either of the places that he has in mind.
We are celebrating my birthday at dinner this month. [Actually, I’m pretty much celebrating it all month long. I started with week-long celebrations when I turned 50, and every year the party gets extended a little longer. When I turn 100, I think the good times should start rolling about the time the last flake of confetti falls on New Year’s Day and not let up until I get my New Year’s kiss at the end of the year. [I am still waiting for my New Year’s kisses for the past several years. I wonder if they are stuck in escrow or detained in Customs?] The girls are up to some sort of mischief for later this month. I’m thinking that it’s a dry run, more or less, for the bash that I’ve told them I want for my 60th, when I’m hoping for Elvis and biker dudes and a dance floor, but this is not one of those significant birthdays.
What would be the best present at my birthday party? The privilege of handing a slice of cake [or pizza or whatever] to Middlest and having her feet under the same table as my own. Though I recognize that what I want may not be what she needs. Still, that would be my preference. Bow on her forehead? Optional.
And speaking of things on foreheads. Have had an interesting exchange of emails with one of the Good Brothers re: the garage band shindig this weekend. I peppered him with questions:
1. Would earplugs be prudent?
2. Am I going to be able to sit and knit during this [while rocking out in my chair, of course]?
3. Will they beat me with a vintage Fender if I sing along?
4. Will there be Harleys?
5. Can I get up and dance if I feel the urge?
6. Will you put frowny-face stickers on the foreheads of guys I should not talk to, or flirt with?
And he responded, “Ah, many interesting questions...where to begin.”
2. Knitting is completely possible.
3. People are encouraged to sing along or grab a mike and have some fun!
4. I’m not sure but I’ll bet someone will have a Harley...I wish [individual] could have made it in from [out of state] but he is too ill...he plays in a biker bar!
5. Dancing is also encouraged.
6. No need to worry about the guys that need frowny-face stickers...their wives will be keeping them in check.
1. As for earplugs...might bring some just in case but the guys setting up the gear are pro musicians.
As much as I love dancing [i.e., the all-day dance seminar at Gilley’s in Dallas on Saturday] or men in kilts [bagpipes and Underoos optional; i.e., the local Renaissance festival], I am having an exceedingly busy week at work, and I think I will require some vintage rock as a palate-cleanser.
Does anybody know where my tweezers wandered off to? I wonder if I still have that spare pair tucked into my embroidery floss box? When the kids [or their kids] excavate my home after I’m gone, will they find tweezers tucked into every change purse and the odd pocket? Apparently tweezers are much more selective in their breeding habits than are wire coat hangers. Drat the luck!
Much progress on [Almost] Cozy yesterday; unfortunately, it’s at that awkward adolescent age where it’s lumpy and bumpy and camera-shy. But I’m within an hour of splicing on another ball of yarn, so we’re nearing the 30% mark, more or less.
Thursday already? Woohoo! And I managed to sleep half an hour later this morning before the thunder woke me. This would seem to call for some celebratory knitting.