This morning (and most of the week) I had been thinking about the fact that I would probably have to talk to Darth today (Friday). We are working on a work project together, and well, it’s to be expected that we would be talking/discussing/working together. Funny (and not so much now) how that is. I was so excited (we both seemed to be) when this all started… Anyway! So far, however, I’ve just been dealing with one of his business partners. But since we had some big deadlines today, I figured that he would most likely be on the call as well.
I’ve been thinking about that a lot this week. And today was the day.
I woke up, feeling completely discombobulated. I needed something. Chocolate was not going to cut it. I probably should have exercised , but instead I did something I haven’t done in a while – I bought shoes.
I kik messaged Kinkyminx at 7:30 in the morning telling her I was shoe medicating.
I went to work. I wanted a drink. I wanted my shoes. I wanted him. I wanted to pull the covers up over my head and pretend this day wasn’t happening. One of two things were going to happen – either he was going to be on the call and I would be heart broken over everything that meant or he wouldn’t be, and I would be heartbroken over everything that meant. Oh yeah, it was win-fucking-win.
He wasn’t on the call. In fact he was being a dick, through his business partner, about things (some access issues). I wondered if he (his business partner) knew, about us. By the time the webmeeting was over, I was so ready for a drink… thank god it had just generally been a super intense/ high pressure week, because everyone in the office was on the same page, and it wasn’t just me looking to do a keg stand by 1 o’clock.
I emailed my girls just a few minutes ago with a picture of my shoe choice. A platform stiletto in blush.
My sister’s response?
“Shoe-whore. For the times when you can’t be a whore-whore”
I love her.
I have a feeling I’m going to have a looooot of shoes. Like, making Imelda Marcos look like my dad (with his sneakers and dress shoes – c’est tout). I’m not going to be the crazy cat lady… I’m going to be the crazy shoe lady.
On the plus side, shoes don’t eat and poop.