Lucky Y'all

So while I'm only imagining I have an audience, this next post is the perfect foil. I share an office with one absolutely ebullient woman, one whom I am eternally grateful for having to spend so many hours a day in such close proximity. She is eternally positive and easy to laugh from the gut. My life would surely be different were it anyone else with whom I had to share this tiny room.

But the real beauty of this situation is that we are almost exactly the same brand of crazy. I can mutter and throw inappropriate dialect all day long, self-deprecate, gloat, and obsess-- and she thinks it's hysterical. In turn, she yammers about food and giggles and shares intimate details about her children that they'd kill her over, and I think it's all positively brilliant. We have a subtle body language that tells one another to shut up, and have never gotten irritated with one another in two years. Which reminds me of one of my favorite expressions of hers-- "making pearls" as meaning extreme irritation. Hilarious.

So the perfection in this sequence of posts is that unfortunately for her-- she is my captive audience. I am certain that it is God itself that grants her the perception of entertainment when I day after day expound upon my uneventful life. Which is, by the way, much "faster" than hers. She's Southern Baptist. I try to edit, but sometimes I don't just to shake it up. She finds quiet pleasure in it, I'm convinced. So I never hesitate to let her in on the zillions of men in my past, present, and future.

While I can't always tell her when I've received the most stingingly delicious spanking in a few years, or why he I really think he's gay, I do give some riveting accounts. Some dating as far back as grade school. I am completely amused at her ability to keep most of them straight, as I am famous for having several of these men enter and exit multiple times, sometimes years apart. (I believe I get this from my father who "recycles" old girlfriends into wives now that he's in his eighties, circumventing the cost of 24-hour care.) She can usually name them as I bring them up, sometimes by our own exclusive nickname she and I have given them and sometimes by their proper names. It's absolutely fascinating. Occasionally she'll flub, mistaking Captain Stubing for Asberger, but really it's understandable.

But the real endearment came when she starts to tell me the other day, a little embarrassed that she's taken our yammerings home with her, that she was struggling to recall how I had first met Young Thing as she was falling asleep the night before. We laughed until near tears at this dilemma. It was only a few minutes later that I busted her on counting my men in the proverbial manner of sheep.