This morning I had to chip ice and frost (mainly frost) off my car's windows with my Best Buy card (come on, it's the best card to have--a minimum guaranteed 3 months of zero interest!). That was some dirty slush I got off of those windows. I have a really nice ice scraper with a brush on the other end somewhere in the garage. When the Little Red Car was totalled last May, the scraper did not make it in to the new car. I hadn't missed it until now. However, the Best Buy card was totally serviceable, just like it will be when I buy a Roomba tomorrow.
That's right. A Roomba. The Boy really wants one, and I admit, having something automatically clean the cat fur off the floor totally excites me, because those damn animals won't do it for us. They love to pull great big tufts of their hair out and leave them rolling around like softy, fluffy tumbleweeds (side note: I'm totally full-on allergic to tumbleweeds, or Russian Thistle as they are technically called). Sure, a broom would be like $2, but it seems I have to operate a broom. I can pretend I'm playing a solo game of curling with the dust bunnies as my blue hone granite stones. Since none of that sounds like fun, I am going to just go ahead with what The Boy wants. I think it is a grand idea. Those are fancy new floor, someone, erm, something has to keep them pretty.
In other news, someone who works in the same place I do, who I do not know in any way, called me and immediately sounded annoyed and harried like she had a recalcitrant child hanging off her leg:
Me: Hello?
Her: (Makes frustrated huffing-puffing noises) Hello, I need to know what's going on, with, with the, the thing...the babyshower.
Me: Excuse me (since she didn't introduce herself)?
Her: The babyshower. Are you doing the decorations?
Me: No. I have nothing to do with the babyshower.
Her: What? I need to know what's going on with it. I called B and I called J, but neither one of them are there (she seriously sounded like someone had just ran her over and drove off while flipping her the bird).
Me: Well, I'm sorry, but I have nothing to do with it.
Her: Excuse me? Nothing, you are doing NOTHING?
Me: Correct, I literally have zero involvement in it.
Her: REALLY? (So shocked, I have obviously committed a serious work-family sin.)
Me: Yes, REALLY. I have nothing to do with it, and am sorry you can't find anyone to help you right now.
The shower is on Friday for Twit. What could she possibly have her panties so tightly twisted that this stranger to me calls in a panic needing to know WHAT'S GOING ON? Seriously? Decorations? That constituted an emergency call around the building harassing people who may or may not have anything to do with a stupid fucking baby shower? Twit being pregnant has nothing to do with work, and I fail to see why I should get involved in her personal life and give her free stuff.
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