My best work-related moment of the week? Walking past two sweatshirt-clad facilities workers singing Heart’s Magic Man. They had pretty good harmony, too. It’s truly the little things in life, no?
I recently dyed my hair, and while it’s certainly different, it’s not a shade of Manic Panic or anything. It’s an auburn color, nothing drastic. Anyway, I recently ran into the HR lady (FYI – spell check wants me to change this to woman on the grounds that the word lady is “bias language”) who once argued with me about the name on my birth certificate and the spelling of my nickname. By the expression on her face you would have thought I shot off the top of my head. Never have I seen a human being more horrified by my appearance, and that’s truly saying something as I have had some tragic moments. I guess it made up for things when Shirley, the superskinny woman who talks so low I can’t understand half of what’s she’s saying (seriously – we’ve had entire one-sided conversations unbeknownst to me) – told me that she thought my hair looked nice. At least that’s what I think she said.
Yesterday on Facebook my friend Erin Kate mentioned something about how being a mother has made her more susceptible to irrational emotions and/or crying about things that in a past life would have made her laugh. I pointed out that a female over 30 doesn’t need to have children for sentimental manipulation to start the waterworks. There have been days, my friends, in which I will cry at pretty much anyone or anything that’s vulnerable. This includes babies, animals, baby animals, people with developmental disabilities, the elderly, elderly people with disabilities, the homeless, homeless animals, judges with tough judgements to make, single parents, the disenfranchised, and plucky underdogs. I am doomed.