I was talking to two coworkers a minute ago – one was on the other side of the gray cubical wall and the other was standing between our two cubes. In one of my regular bursts of talking about how cool I am, I told the two of them that I was psychic and could see through the cube wall to the chick on the other side. The chick on the other side said, “Okay, what am I doing right now?” and I said “shooting the finger.”
She was indeed flipping me the bird. Now, that’s exactly what I would have done, and so would you, probably. Shooting the finger is fun. Helps ease the carpal tunnel. That was an easy one to guess. I wanted to try again. I actually kind of concentrated this time and said the chick on the other side of the wall was thumbing her nose at me (obviously she has some underlying need to tell me to fuck off showing through). Got that one right too.
I tried for number three. Really concentrated. Said the chick on the other side of the wall was scratching her ass. SHE WAS. Now, the first one is easy to blow off. The second one, somewhat. The third one? Come on. This is a little tiny fashion plate development chick who probably wouldn’t scratch her ass if it itched. Even if she had a fire ant bite on it.
Obviously we didn’t feel like working this morning. And obviously I still don’t because I’m writing this. If I could somehow insert the mention of ass scratching into the proposal I need to finish, I’d be hot to do it. My right brain is running the show today, and I just don’t have any mojo for proposal writing. I want to run through the grass barefoot. I want to eat an apple and let the juice run down my chin (and then quickly grab a wet-wipe to get that sticky stuff off my skin). I want to fly a kite, take a hike, roll around with the dogs, not wear pants, take a nap in a hammock, build a sandcastle, go for a drive, eat barbecue at a roadside stand that has shitty potato salad but really good cole slaw and gives you the option of sweetened or unsweetened iced tea. Sigh.