So there I was. I had run 4.3 miles, rounded up some moving boxes, taken a hot bath, eaten some summer sausage as a late dinner (I know – what on earth? WHY do I have two gigantic summer sausages in my fridge?), and was wearing my flannel duck pajamas (don’t judge), ready to turn in early for the night. When this Annie called me.
And before you could say “fat salami links,” I was in my skinny jeans and heels, slapping on some lip gloss, and oomphing my hair as I ran out the door. Because I’m sorry, but when certain girlfriends call, you have no choice but to put on your Go Get ‘Ems and hit the town.
The details are probably not bloggable, because some stories are not mine to share. But let’s just say that the evening took us places we could not have planned. And when you find yourself on a honky tonk dance floor with your pals the Hollywood actor and the country rock star, and there are air kisses being traded and tourist pictures being taken, and your friend gets up with the band to sing “Blue Suede Shoes,” and you dance even though you don’t dance, and you feel happy to be single, and you don’t make it home until 2am, and you only get a few hours of sleep before rolling into work looking like a complete and total train wreck just in time for the company Christmas picture…
Let’s just say that I may have found the reason for my boring job.
Because I don’t know that I could handle much more excitement than I experienced last night.