A conversation between me and rock star coworker, Justin.
(Note: I am a girly-girl in every sense of the word. I LOVE shoes, purses, clothes…you get the idea. While I also am an adrenaline junky and enjoy physical activity and outdoor things, this is still a pretty funny story for anyone who knows me and sees me on a daily basis—in my fancy shoes, especially the glittery ones)
SETTING: Justin is in his cubie, working like a madman on his two computer screens, mounds of paper work and other coworkers (such as myself) interrupting his flow of rock star-ness.
ME: Hey Justin. Lean against his cubie wall, ignoring the fact that he’s busy.
JUSTIN: Hey. Glances my way, continues to type.
ME: How’s it goin'? I am here to be entertained, darn it.
ME: Huh. Hey, wanna hear something cool?
ME: Lunch date with Lemons next week, 12:30, that European pizza place downtown.
JUSTIN: Courtesy laugh as he continues to work. Great multitasker, that Justin is.
ME: Wanna see something cool? I’ve been waiting ALL day to share this with someone. Justin is the PERFECT candidate.
JUSTIN: Finally ignores his work to give me the 100% of his attention I deserve. Of course!
ME: I hold out my left hand palm up, and show him the injury I obtained over the weekend (Okay, so I was going to take a picture to show you all how dang impressive it was, but it wasn’t gory enough. I wanted it to turn yellow and purple with bruising, but I did such a good job taking care of it when it happened, nothing ever came to fruition, thus, I will describe it to you. It looks like a small bite mark, a really small bite mark--like Fae from the Dark Court small--and it’s bloody, and slightly bruised and swollen and impressive. Oh, so impressive. It’s in the meaty part of my hand where my pointer finger meets my palm.)
JUSTIN: Brows arch in a somewhat impressed fashion. Ouch. Looks like it hurt.
ME: Nods. Yup. It did. But only a little. Wanna know how I got it?
JUSTIN: Of course! Typical excited Justin response. It’s great.
ME: Shrugs shoulders, tries to act nonchalant and “everyday-ish” about this. Cleaning my gun.
JUSTIN: Pregnant pause. Silence. Erupts in laughter.
ME: I know! It’s so cool isn’t it?
JUSTIN: Still laughing. How’d you get it?
ME: Pulls out the lingo and info Hubby spouted me when I insisted he teach me how to properly and responsibly use and clean my gun. Well, I’d just finished cleaning and putting together my 9MM, and was doing a trigger test. When I pulled back the slide and let it go, my hand got in the way and it pinched my skin.
JUSTIN: Did you cry?
ME: No. It kind of hung there. I couldn’t get it off myself. I was like, Hubby, Hubby. Get this off. He kind of looked at me and then the gun.
JUSTIN: Laughs some more.
Co-worker Janice walks by.
ME: Hey, Janice! Wanna see something cool?
JANICE: Sure, babe. Walks over.
ME: Shows hand.
JANICE: Looks like you got pinched.
JANICE: Doing what?
ME: Cleaning my gun.
JANICE: Laughs at me. Literally AT me. Honey, you need to wait for it to bruise up more before you go showing it off. More impressive that way. Walks away.
ME: Scowls a little but still darn proud of my wound AND how I got it. Thinks to self: I wonder if Tris ever got one of these while cleaning her gun during the Dauntless initiation. Then I shake my head. Who am I kidding? Tris is a Bad ass.
|My Taurus PT92 - 9MM|