as i walked toward the mailroom this morning, i heard someone softly say "wait a minute... stop, stop..." i glanced casually over my shoulder to see that the editor-in-chief was right behind me... breathe, breathe... seconds away from full-blown cardiac arrest, i stopped in my tracks, unsure of what my future held...
was my thong showing? had i overdone it by wearing a trendy white peasant skirt? was a sneak peek of my tat unprofessional? was the sound of my heels hitting my jeweled flip-flops distracting? had i forgotten to straighten my hair in the back, thus making a hideous bumper-sticker-like impression as she followed in my footsteps? breathe, breathe...
"your tag is out..." she said, reaching toward the exposed area between my black microfiber tank top and black cotton knit shrug...
she fixed my tag, semi-genuinely smiled and said, "that's better..."
hours later we met again near the editorial printer... as i reached for a courier slip i politely apologized for reaching past her... this is altogether too much conversation between the two of us... i should tone it down for the rest of the week... oh shit, it's only monday...
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
the saying may go that "actions speak louder than words," but in my opinion words actually shout decibels above any move one could make... so expressive, interpretive and intense... all you need to find is a method to your madness to avoid rambling nonsense...
