My younger sister. She was the middle child until Juan was born. Now she’s the one that’s married with children. She has beautiful children and a marriage that frequently rivals the soap opera plots of Mexican novelas. Her life isn’t boring simply because she refuses to live without drama. And she frequently brings the drama into my living room.
“I can beat that,” I tell my friend, laughing too loud even for the too loud cafe. We’ve been entertaining each other with funny and funny-because-they’re-sad stories from work. I know my next story will win the undeclared competition: “My boss came up to me at a Christmas party and honked my boobs.”
I can tell I have her attention by the abrupt silence and wide eyes. “A guy?” she asks me, I think already knowing the answer.
“Nope,” I tell her. “It was a woman.” And I smile and pause. “She was very very drunk, but that’s what she did. She came up to me and, well, honked my boobs.”
“What did you do?” she asks me, her tone a mixture of disbelief and disgust.
“She realized what she did and apologized. And I moved away from her quickly. If it had been a guy I might have made a bigger deal about it. I wasn’t actually sure what I was supposed to do, how I was supposed to react. It wasn’t sexual, but it was inappropriate.” I sigh and add, “It didn’t help that I was completely sober. I thought my face was going to burst into flames I turned so red with embarrassment. And I couldn’t even hide behind a nice buzz.”
My friend and I talk a bit, marveling at the awkward situation I just told her about … and she’d been the first person to hear that story, except of course for the dozen or so people who actually saw the boob-honking happen. And now, all of you.
“I should have realized then and there that our working relationship was doomed, when she honked my boobs and thought a laughing drunken apology would wipe the slate clean. Because, really, how do you get past something like that?”
And, of course, I win the worst-story-from-work contest we’ve got going. But, in this case, I really don’t think that’s a good thing.
I missed a celebration last night because I was asleep. I took some medication and just slept through it. Of course, the argument could be made that I just didn’t want to go. (And I didn’t.) But I had intended to go, and I didn’t.
I worked through the night to meet a contract deadline that I’d (somehow) forgotten until reminded. And I mean that I worked until 7 am to finish the documents, construct the paperwork, and send them to the client. But I met my deadline.
So, instead of going to a morning breakfast event, I opted to get some sleep. I was supposed to have three more meetings today, and I figured I’d need at least a few hours sleep before tackling the rest of my day. So I missed an event where I could have (possibly) made contact with someone who is a work lead. I needed at least a little bit of sleep.
Of course, two of my three appointments cancelled during the morning. I could have gone to the morning event and gone home to sleep before my evening appointment. But I lost my chance. And my day went sideways.
The worst part is that I didn’t even get to get that much sleep. Just three hours after falling asleep I was woken up by my sister who reminded me that she and I had agreed to go shopping today. Instead we went to lunch, but sleep was over.
Somehow, I think, I could have managed my time better. Somehow I need to do better.
Image source: alinanatasa / Pixabay