I was late in beginning my morning break's exercise, a jaunt around the path surrounding the office...it's around a mile. I dawdled, and found myself with just shy of ten minutes with which to complete the course. I elected instead to only follow the bordering sidewalks around the building.

As I rounded a corner, I heard Brenda's voice upon the air...or rather her laugh—full-bodied and rolling. Electing to give her her space—I had not had a good morning...my stomach went on strike, delaying my readying process...I hit every possible red light...I was rushing and out of breath...I was a study in anxiety during my many excursions to Brenda's desk...so much so that she muttered towards the end, "I don't want to see you again."

I got back to my desk several minutes before training resumed, and emailed my aunt to tease,

I think I heard your laugh just a bit ago as I circled the building.

It's infectious.

Are you drunk?

:-P

Chuckling to myself, knowing the level of propriety sought at this company, I sent the message...and had to refrain from snorting when her reply came quickly to set me straight:

Nope, we were talking about boobs!

(News Reporter:)

Now, with two-thirds of the population obese...

(Brenda:)

—well maybe if two-thirds of the population is obese and only one-third is skinny, the ones not normal are the skinny ones.

(Debbie:)

(distracted) Yeah. Hey, did you know that humming birds have 1,500 feathers?

(Brenda:)

No, I didn't. (she walks toward the computer room where I sit) Did you say something?

(Me:)

Not a thing.

(Debbie:)

...and they breathe 250 times a minute.

Some days, there just isn't enough coffee on the planet to get me through my morning.

Well, I got some news that left me less than peachy yesterday during my lunch break. I won't go into it here, but let's just say that I vented to Brenda for a good portion of the post-noon hours via text messages....she was a trooper and responded to every one...even though she HATES text messaging. I mean REALLY HATES it. Really. Really, Really.

No, really, really, really.

And I find myself tickled to learn that my cousin, Corey, pictured below with my handsome brother there on the left, texts Brenda as well. Neither he nor I sought permission before sending that first message. Brenda specifically avoided getting a text messaging plan on her Sprint contract because text messaging irritates her...hunting and pecking for letters and all. To steal Kara's phrase, I'd say it makes her "violently angry".



But anyway...this has nothing to do with Brenda hating that particular form of electronic communication, nor of my closest-in-age-cousin daring to push the same reactive-aunt buttons as myself—but, rather, that Brenda put up with me all afternoon.

I appreciated her.

I went to the grocery store after work. I have an interview today, and decided to make cookies afterwards. I "made" cookies last month for the bake sale at work. After meeting up with good-friend Sarah for conversation and giggles one sleepy Thursday evening, I bought four containers of cookies and separated them in groups of six into Ziploc bags. No one was any the wiser and the cleanup was a breeze—so much so, that Debbie offered to clean my cookie sheets. I thanked her profusely the next morning.

But anyway, I'm making the only cookies seriously worth making this afternoon. Brenda bought me a new Pampered Chef, baby-sized cookie scoop recently...I have to give 'er a test drive, naturally. I bought bananas, chocolate chips, and oatmeal earlier in the week...thinking this should cover the ingredient-set for my banana oatmeal chocolate chip cookies...but alas, no. the suckers require flour and sugar too...who saw that coming!? Baking with flour!?—sugar!? Who does that anymore!? This is obviously a very old recipe.

So I was in the grocery store (this post has nothing to do with cookies, either) and I made mental note to buy flowers, maybe a card too, for Brenda...as a thanks for putting up with my disjointed-nose and profanity it did there inspire. It doesn't happen often, and my mother avoided classifying the momentary outbursts under the b-word, and labeled them instead as "feisty". Ah, good old Mom.

I returned home from the store, toting my purchases from the car, and realized with a groan that I bought neither flowers nor greeting card for Brenda, being too flustered with the overcrowded market. I quickly reached for the colored pencils kept here courtesy of my mother, who loved drawing and coloring in her free time. I summarized the events of the afternoon on three sheets of paper, neglecting not one detail. The message in full read:

Nenna—
I was going to buy you flowers for letting me b*tch to you this afternoon...but when I stopped at Pick 'n Save, I was distracted by stupid people and bought m&m's instead. Here you go: (I scribbled a rudimentary flower illustration as I heard the garage door elevate, announcing their arrival home)

And, as an afterthought, I clarified:

The m&m's are mine.

I did buy m&m's...the peanut variety, being that if you're going to have chocolate you might as well apply a little salty to that sweet for a full kaleidoscope of flavor. And also, being that chocolate covered peanuts are pretty much my life's passion. After coffee. And gum. And Lysol wipes. The depth of my life is, in short, staggering. They were resting near the computer keyboard, where I stashed them when I stole paper from the printer for my note and illustration.

After issuing my creation unto my aunt, I began my afternoon regimen of flossing, gargling, and this week, a round with Rembrandt Whitening Strips. (Brenda, possessing of the prettiest teeth of anyone, recommended Rembrandt over Crest. My preliminary findings suggest this to be so as well...just an F.Y.I. for the white-tooth-loving crowd.) I left the bathroom with the strips adhered to my teeth and moved toward the computer to check my email.

From Brenda, I found the note:

Laura—
Loved the flower but wanted the m&m's.

She drew a picture of an m&m package, perhaps suggesting a drawing really in no way compensated for the real thing. Perhaps. Distressingly, my m&m's were missing. I was stubborn and did not want to ask where she hid my treat. I scanned the entire house, finding nothing.

Finally, with my whitening-strip-lisp, I cried irascibly, "Wheh ah mah eh-en-eh's!?"

Man, I'm cool.