I’m going to ask you about your weekend so I can tell you about mine. In detail.

Lady Criesalot just came into my office.  And hovered.  WHILE I was in the process of combining honey and peanut butter to have peanut butter honey toast for lunch. (Long story short, if you want a sandwich at lunch now, you have to buy some four dollar piece of crap from the cafeteria instead of being able to make your own delicious cheese sandwich and I already got the bread before I realized they’d confiscated the sandwich makings.)

Anywho, as I’m fervently mixing up my concoction [complete with furrowed brow], LC is standing directly in front of my desk, asking about my weekend.

Or, as I like to put it, “Baiting me to open up the floodgates of her ultra-detailed and rather boring soliloquy about HER weekend.”

It is almost all I can do not to stop her and say, “Look. I understand that you’re going to miss athlete boy, I really do, but I really don’t want to hear a super-detailed version of what you did this weekend, complete with verbatim dialogue.”

But, she’d probably start whispering, crying, and doing the pouting baby face thing again.

I seriously think I spoke for about twenty seconds about my weekend before she launched into her diatribe.

She seems to have a lot of friends, so I’m wondering why she doesn’t just call them and regale THEM with the details.

Her listening skills also leave something to be desired.  When I say, “I’m not in a super great mood because I worked until ten pm last night and I’m way tired,” but I’m smiling and laughing and generally acting okay, then I don’t mean “OH MY DEAR LORD THIS IS THE WORST DAY OF MY LIIIIIIIIIFE!”

But she departs my office with, “Well, I hope your day gets better!”

It seems I either need to buy Lady Criesalot a hearing aid, or a crash course in not thinking histrionic behavior is something we all display.

p.s. I ate skittles the other day and one fell out of my hand and landed here:

skittletrash.jpg

Since it’s technically in the NO TRASH ZONE [aka just in the knot I made so the bag would stay put, but not necessarily near anything dirty], would it be completely disgusting of me to eat it?

I mean, come on, it’s an ORANGE skittle.  If it were lemon or grape, I’d say leave it.  If it were strawberry, I wouldn’t even be asking because it would already be in my mouth.

But ORANGE.  It ranks up there with lime: not my most favorite, but not easily discarded like lemon or grape.

What to do?

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4 thoughts on “I’m going to ask you about your weekend so I can tell you about mine. In detail.

  1. frisky says:

    I would eat the skittle. As long as no one was watching – because even though the no-trash zone is going to be fine, your coworkers might not think so. Less judgement, more skittles!

  2. Given a burst of courage by your comment, I just ate the skittle.

    And it was the absolute BEST orange skittle I’ve ever consumed.

  3. The Silver Fox says:

    I would have eaten it too. It is a skittle. It is not to be wasted.

  4. Yesss! I’m glad I’m not alone in this.

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