Hubby has called twice today. Only four more times. Rest assured that I will answer the phone when he chances to call.
Sugarlove, Ellylove, I just don’t know how I would do my iddy biddy job without you. I just love you to iddy biddy bits. Is that so? Chortle, giggle. I can’t stand to be away from you. Guffaw, guffaw, giggle.
It’s worse when I sit at her desk. While she may not be there and he doesn’t call, I am confronted by a large, six inch diameter, pin with their big grinning faces on it. Suffice to say, it remains face down for that eight and a half hours. If I look at it all I can hear is “Babylove, babylove, babylove, babylove…”, and I see myself in a downward spiral clutching my hair, looking up and screaming.
I don’t want my SO calling me at work unless it’s an emergency, or we need to arrange something last minute. I think it is very unprofessional, something I’m not usually concerned with, and if he dared call that many times a day I would feel as if he were checking up on me.
We had some chicks in my geography class a couple years ago who constantly talked in a high pitched voice. We called them the Mice People, and every now and then we’d go, “It’s the attack of the MICE PEOPLE” in squeaky voices.
(Nocturne is surrounded by 3 giggling, annoying, cute-as-hell freshman girls who consider her their “den mother”)
AFG: Ohhh, mygosh, I just have to tell you what my boyfriend did last night on the phone! (proceeds to tell Nocturne a rambling, boring, cutesy-wutesy story).
Nocturne: (attempting to read “Slaughterhouse 5”) That’s nice.
AFG2: And ohmygod! The boy I just LOVE winked at me yesterday! He is such a hottie! I think he is sooooo cute!
Nocturne: Mmmmhmm. (Freshmen do NOT take a hint.)
AFG3: Well, MY schnookums did the sweetest thing. (tells story–Nocturne is looking ready to ralph at this point).
Nocturne: Oh really? Well, my satanic bisexual lover did the most ADORABLE thing the other day. Right after she and I had sex with my dog…did I mention my cute snoochy-poochy was dead, we…girls? Girls? Where did you go?
Wallet-Boy? Oh, I’ll be filing that one away for future use, thanks.
I sit in a kitty-corner cubicle across from a mostly normal, mature woman who likes horsies. Her I.Q. drops to single digits and her voice rises by two octaves once she picks up the phone. “<mock petulant> But I don’t wannoo have to ride Sundancer tonight. She’s a grumpy horsie. <wheedling> Can’t you book me Rainbow Harvest instead? Huh? Pwease?”
A good set of headphones is the only thing standing between her and my left foot of fury.
