Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Someone help me wipe off these tables! Someone dust off that orange chair up there! Can someone put some Windex on that vending machine?? Can someone sweep?!? We are about to have a guest here and this place is a MESS!
(“This place is a mess!” is all I ever heard from my mom back in the 80s when she stepped inside my room. All. I. Ever. Heard.)
Wow, you guys can really pull it together and I appreciate it more than you know. Okay, let me catch my breath and then I’ll tell you who will be here in a few nanoseconds.
*Panting steadily slows down*
Paige. Paige Kellerman from “There’s More Where That Came From” will be h– Well, there you are Paige. You don’t have to stand over there by that orange chair. You’ve written a book after all! Authors get chairs! (Her book At Least My Belly Hides My Cankles comes out in June 2013!) Go ahead and sit in it. Paige, you guys, is a very talented writer who REGULARLY makes me laugh out loud when I read her posts. Regularly. I’m not exaggerating or anything funky like that. This girl is the real deal and has a very, very good sense of humor. She agreed to help a sister out today and has arrived to tell you a little story. Please listen up. (Can you guys spit out your gum?)
fabulous Kelley for letting me back in the Breakroom. OK, maybe she didn’t so
much “let” me back in as much as I’m repaying her for all the damage I did the
last time I was here.
tuna fish sandwich for ten minutes can cause a small explosion?
let’s call them, “electrical fires” and leaving the Breakroom with thirty-four
microwaves instead of thirty-five.
it’s time to talk about sports. More specifically, baseball. Even more
specifically, watching baseball on TV. Yep, that’s more my speed. No physical
activity today, folks. That stuff is terrifying. Like I always say, one-hundred
percent of people who’ve exercised have died at some point in their lives, so.
sports fan. Sure, I knew baseball players love diamonds, and football players
still thought shoulder pads were a good look, but the rules of these types of
affairs were a mystery to me. Over the last six years, however, my soul mate
has taken me under his wing and explained things.
my own brand of enthusiasm to our daily baseball watchings. I am now a fan. But
after twenty-three years of not being a fan, I find I need to add a little
something extra to the experience, so Husband knows I’m sincere.
Dress in authentic gear. Husband enjoys it when
I wear a catcher’s mitt, mask, and knee pads. It gives me a chance to simulate
the action, and eliminates romance as an option. A serious fan doesn’t hold
hands. A serious fan yells, “You’re out,” and kicks her spouse off the couch.
Shame him if he cries.
this with a fist pump in a chair. Do this, do this anywhere.
spark a new one with, “If I wore a cup…” See what happens.
confused or presses me for specifics, I usually opt for the standard reply of
slamming my beer down and yelling, “Magnificent Thor’s hammer, it’s like I’m
the one who’s been watching sports her whole life. It was right there on the
screen, man. Right there on the screen.”
Relevant or not relevant. For instance,
Husband will say, “He’s on the disabled list this year.”
cook off, eight straight years in a row.”
to do with baseball. But the point is you’re in there. You’re doing it.
scrubbing the seared tuna off the Breakroom’s vending machine.