It's alot of oysters, but no pearls
Happy Valentine's Day.
There, I said it. Feel free to throw chocolate at me because you love me, or because you were trying to forget. Whatever. Chocolate is chocolate.
I haven't updated in a while, so there's alot that's happened. Which means I don't remember all of it, naturally. So here is what I do remember...
+ Being sick with the cold from hell. Seriously, one morning I woke up with a sore throat and by noon I was talking like James Earl Jones.
+ Calling Angie, "Mom". I was not thinking clearly due to the high dosage of cold medicine, obviously. I said it at work too. With witnesses. Very unprofessional, very embarrassing. Angie almost cried. She kept saying, "I knew this would happen eventually."
+ Finally hiring someone else to work in our Circulation Department. Her name is Pam and she's very cool. Most of the time. See below.
+ Pam has been riding with me on a route I'm throwing until we find a carrier to take over. One afternoon she mentions how dirty her clothes are getting from the ink on the papers. We come up with smocks as a solution. In my mind they are very useful, having pockets for change and scissors and other things we need, and advertisement as they'd have the paper logo on it. I tell her we should definitely mention it to Angie. She says she'll make one up to show her. (She loves crafts. She looks like she knits.) So Monday she shows up with smocks for us to wear while we're out in the field. Except looking useful and promotional they are red and she has ironed on a sunflower and a hummingbird. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I told Angie who laughed, and then said there was no way in hell she was wearing that. Pam wore hers today, I pretended to forget mine.
+ A murderer escaping from jail Saturday night and sending the entire town into a panic. The good news is that we're selling alot of papers. The bad news is that I don't want to go out after dark and have begun to contemplate cleaning my home in case I am murdered and the police have to take photos. Imagine the shame of being murdered in a pigsty. Then again, I rather hope they'd be mourning me and not my lack of cleaning skills.
+ Yesterday I got a phone call from the Highway Patrol wanting to know if I gave anyone a ride during my paper route yesterday. Apparently I had just gone down this really long driveway and thrown a paper when the woman who lived there spotted a man meeting the murderer's description walking across her back pasture. Yes, ladies and gentleman. Not only do we deliver news to your front door but convicted murderers also! Now that's service. I of course was of no help, since I didn't give him a ride, though it did scare the crap out of me that I was that close and had no clue. Seriously, the only thing I was thinking about when I delivered that paper was the shame of knowing all the words to Baby One More Time on the radio.
And that's all I remember. Maybe I should start taking those memory herbs.