a. hand me my shawl and knitting, sonny boy
b. reality check, please
c. get me some botox, damn it!
d. just take a knife to my heart, it'd be less painful
okay, i've been relocated from my semi corner office to a public cubicle. gone is the artwork on the walls and the nifty potted tree in the corner. the bulk of my day consists of blocking the daily onslaught of door knockers and phone callers and hand holding executives while they act as if they are getting ready to walk the plank instead of have a meeting with the VP. my boss is cool. she reminds me of the new geena davis character in the fall scheduled tv drama about the first female president. that's my boss. female, pretty, slim, geena davis looking, cute brown flippy hair that always looks perfect. anyway, i'm off topic, as this is supposed to be about me. it must be the altzheimers kicking in...
to make my crappy cubicle somewhat homey, i've decorated it with a unique style that says, "i'm a professional, yet fun". a beautiful wall calendar hung on the cubicle wall. silly yet eclectic toys for execs to play with and de-stress for a moment or two, and discrete pictures of family and friends pinned where mostly only i will see them... unless there's some snoopy person craning their necks to see my personal wall art. i have little pictures my son drew for me, christmas pictures of friends, etc... and just one picture of someone rather cute of whom it amuses me to take a 30 second fantasy and sneak a peek every now and then. this is someone a tad younger than i am, but i think if the stars aligned i would consider dating him if the chance ever arose. at the moment we are just friends. friends with potential, perhaps.
today i had a new, young manager pleeb trying to get time on my boss's calendar to discuss some boring yet urgent matter. while i search for time on her calendar, this person peruses my personal cubicle items and points to the picture of my male friend, and he says, "is that your son?" i say, " ahh, no... that's a friend. this is my son." and produce a picture of a three year old boy. awkward moment gone, he gets on the calendar and thank God, it's the end of my workday.
i think about this on the way home, "does this guy really look THAT young? dang, he's in his 30's. does that manager dude need glasses? sheesh." and then the realization kicks in.... "do i look that old?"
i'm stunned. hurt. broken. old. i will spare you all the angst and boohoo pity party thoughts i had during my drive home, but this has made me rethink a lot of things. i'll just keep those thoughts to myself.