A few weeks ago I got onto the elevator one afternoon with three other people from my building. In mid-conversation, someone said, "Let's talk about..." and stopped. At which point the other three people in the elevator all said, "sex?" at the same time. Took a beat. And started singing "Let's talk about sex baby, let's talk about you and me, let's talk about all the good things that can be..." while throwing down a little dancing in the elevator.

Stopped after one verse. And continued on our way.

I'm going to guess that sort of thing doesn't often happen when one works at, oh, a bank.

4:12 AM. My kitchen.

"yawn"

CLICK.

"Oh. Um. Hi."

"Hello there. You weren't expecting me to turn that light on, were you?"

"Not so much. You're, um, usually sleeping around now and so I, well... so. You know, I'm just going to scoot under here."

"Mmm. You know I can still see you."

THUNK of undersink cupboard opening.

"Uhhhh. What are you reaching for?"

"Nothing. You just stay... hey!"

"I just thought I'd go over here. Under the microwave. No. No, not here. Over here on the backsplash... No wait in the sink!"

HISSSSSSSSSS

"Oh, c'mon lady! You know I've got a wife and kids and....cough, cough I'm just gonna climb up thish... or fall off thish... oh. Oh no. Elizabeth! I'm comin' to join you! Ahhh, where am I? The light! Carol Anne! Don't go into the... It'sh a long, long road to Tipperary... ohhh..."

THWAP of broom.

"That was taking way too long."

PATTER of feet. FLUSH of toilet.

CLICK.

I'm spending my day with a browser window open to weather.com, obsessively watching Hurricane Charley head towards the coast. While not in the direct path, my mom and dad (as well as sister and brother-in-law) live close enough to the projected landfall to have potentially 100+ mph winds heading towards their houses today.

Keeping my fingers and toes crossed.

And now for something completely different:

I completely and utterly agree with this.

It has been years. Lemme reiterate that. YEARS since I could shop in Victoria Secret because they only make 'normal' sizes (as in, no larger than a C cup.) Fortunately, I found a wonderful place here in Austin called Petticoat Fair that hooked me up, so to speak.

But still, I can empathize with what the author says above. And she's got some good links in there too. :)