No one can understand a day like I had.
It was the wildest, craziest, most ridiculous day of the week, or the month, so far.
Do this. Do that. Where is it? Why not? Can you? Will you? Change this. What can you do to make this right? Are you serious? 7 weeks and you still don’t have an answer?
And then, after multiple calls to UPS to redirect orders, I hear this: “Is that you Carol?”
Even the UPS CSRs know me.
And we laugh and carry on, like good friends.
I will be calling soon. Like in another 4 minutes.
I hear those around me say: “Hey You! What’s wrong? You are so quiet?”
I cannot even begin to explain the craziness of my day.
And when I finally slink out of the office, at 5pm, I turn on the radio, and hear: Rocky Mountain High, Colorado.
Good old John Denver.
I met him…. and Annie. His once upon a time, they were partners, in Northfield, Minnesota.
I turn up the volume, continue on to the nearest gin mill, and sing, “rocky mountain high, Colorado.”
Ok, so a few hours later, I am home.
What a blast.
Yes, many popped their weasels tonight.
Just silly ass stuff.
Can anyone please tell me what I have to do to grow up?
If you do, however, “I kill you!”
Keep popping, all you weasels.