This morning I did not want to wake up. I am a serious proponent of the ten-hours-of-sleep-per-night plan and getting much less is, while not that devastating, enough to leave me open to serious gaps in my mental capabilities.

Not that this is anything new.

This morning, however, I felt like I was fairly on top of things. I remembered to wash my hair while still in the shower. I remembered mascara and eye liner. I remembered to unplug my curling iron. I remembered to brush my teeth and didn’t lock my keys inside the house. I even remembered to fix a lunch!

And then I totally left it in my car, parked about five jillion miles from where I was when I remembered (ok really way less than even one mile but still…). And I had been right on time! So I figured since the lunch was basically just really expensive organic fruit (dammit), I would walk back over to the car during the hour, see if it decomposed and/or was even remotely edible in cooked form, and then go from there either way. Not ideal, but certainly acceptable. At least it wasn’t a publicly embarrassing scene.

Yet.

So I should know by now that I should never share with my co-workers when I do something stupid, as this illicits one of two responses:

  1. They laugh at me, mercilessly. Which, let’s be honest, I sort of love, most of the time. Except when I do something genuinely embarrassing, and then I turn bright red and wish I could hide under my desk. Fortunately, this incident wasn’t yet that caliber of embarrassing.
  2. They turn all super sweet on me and offer to help out. Which makes me either super happy or super uncomfortable because I hate letting anyone do anything for me, especially when it’s my own stupid fault. (Okay I’m already imagining all the people who would disagree and say that in fact I love having things done for me…but that’s different. Whatever it is you’re going to say.)

Anyway, today’s confession to the co-workers ended mostly with the second option, with a nice helping of pity to go along. Comi Coll, being the stand-up gentleman that he is, volunteered to walk the five jillion miles to my vehicle to obtain the fruit for me. I felt pretty bad about this in general, again because I hate putting him out, and in specific because the state of my vehicle is something less than ideal at the mo. Some might say a state of disarray. Some might say gross. Some might even say a little pathetic for a grown up. I’ll just say less than ideal.

But he was persistent and I really didn’t want to make the trek myself (and wouldn’t have, I’d just be having slow roasted pineapple, strawberries and kiwi for lunch), I finally agreed and handed over the keys to the SUV as well as a wildly vague description of where it was parked (in which I even pointed in the opposite direction), and he went on his way.

Five minutes later, STR received a phone call from Comi Coll. Where in the car was my lunch, exactly?

Oh, crap.

  1. My car is ‘less than ideal,’ and a colleague is hunting through it.
  2. My lunch isn’t in the passenger seat where I thought it was.
  3. OMG I left it at home.

Pure, unadulterated dismay followed immediately by bright-red-face-can-I-hide-under-my-desk-please moment.

Followed by a lot of really loud laughter, especially on Comi Coll’s return to the office another five minutes later. Well, he was gracious about it, at least. Didn’t make me feel too badly. But I know I’ll be hearing about this again for several days at the very least.

At least I don’t have to walk five jillion miles to my car during lunch after all. And my fruit is sure to be at worst room temperature on my counter when I get home, not slow cooked.

Sigh.

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