Here is a post I wrote in May of 2008. Some of you have said it's your all-time favorite, but I think you're blowing smoke up my arse:
I have so many things to tell you. I was thinking about them all day at work, and even wrote a list of what I had to tell you, there was such a plethora.
And then? I had The Humiliation. At work. Oh, help.
So, as you know, if you follow my every move, I have been taking my lunch to work this week. So today I brought one of those microwavable soups. This one was chili. And was it ever good. I think it was by Campbell's. (There were new baby geese at lunch, too, not that I ate baby geese.)
A few hours after lunch, I was in my office, probably writing a list of what to blog about or some other impressive work ethic type thing.
There were ice cream sandwiches in the freezer, and I am sorry to tell you in this health blog that I got up to get me one.
Now, my boss's office is at the end of the hall, and mine is right next to hers.
There was another editor in my boss's office, and they were discussing important work things. As I entered the hall, my back to my boss's office, I am sorry to tell you...
I had gas.
I had no idea gas was coming. It was a sneak attack. And you guys, it was not a slight, feminine type of gas moment. This was an endless, stepped-on-a-duck kind of wind passing. Like blurrrrahhhhhh. Like the kind of gas my grandma used to have when she'd climb steps.
I was three feet from my boss's office. Well, then immediately thereafter I was 10 feet from it, as this gas PROPELLED me through the room.
The editor who was in there just completely stopped talking.
This did not stop me from getting the ice cream sandwich. But now I wonder, should I send a telegram to my office, telling them I can never return? Should I sneak back in over the weekend and place a tuba under the carpet, so the editor steps on it Monday and thinks THAT was the noise I made? Should I hire a hypnotist to make everyone forget Friday, including me?
Oh, dear.
