So, I've found employment within the same company where my aunts have found theirs—well, in decades past. They have vacation this week, and it's an exercise in calm telling myself that they're really not trying to sabotage my efforts to quietly make myself a piece of frigging toast by scrunching my bread at the back of an overfull refrigerator and my yogurt spread under more Tupperware than they should rightfully own . I can't be too upset though...the fullness of the refrigeration unit can be attributed in part to the gathering of Woodchuck some benevolent aunt stocked there.
My aunts have always been my alcoholic beverage providers. When I was in high school, it was wine coolers, wine, and vodka or brandy slush. Then it was Kahlúa® Mudslides and Peach Schnapps...and now, apparently, we are entering the fermented cider segment of my life. Debbie couldn't be more pleased...it's the most beer-like beverage to which I've ever so fancied...she's been atwitter for years that I didn't get Paske genes...or hell, even Kittleson. My alcoholic ancestors gypped me out of losing the braincells necessary to be Kellie Pickler's equal. Bummer, dude.
I didn't get the chance to stop home after work yesterday to enjoy one of them. I've been very worried about Nick who actually felt rotten enough on Monday to go to a doctor. I dearly hope he feels better soon, if for no other reason than to steal a kiss. But this is all neither here nor there.
Yesterday morning, I was stressed, nervous, and as always, my stomach was a mess. I try not to snap when I'm under that level of pressure, but my body language does seem to shout warnings rather strikingly. I rounded the corner with my heels striking against the floor in my locked-knee stalk that my uncle refers to as my German family's Hitler walk. Debbie was there, soft and cuddly in her robe and pajamas and her eyes rounded as she saw me coming and tried to body dive into the refrigerator, crying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry...oh God I'm so sorry!" and she seemed near hysterics.
Brenda laughed as though she swallowed a hyena whole and I muttered from the side of my mouth, "Boy, you've got her trained."
She continued to laugh, Brenda and I are of similar temperament, and added, "Here I am just about to smooth her hair and straighten her sweater..." the rest of her statement was lost in the uproarious laughter, and Debbie's eyes went shifty and nervous...poor Debbie. I've felt the power of being Brenda now...it's heady...you shouldn't have let me know that I'm dominant...tsk tsk. Don't you watch the Discovery Channel?
