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It�s been a crazy day. I got in at 8:30, as I�m supposed to, and spent an hour and a half getting ready for our 10:30 meeting. Then I took care of a couple loose payroll ends and set up our conference room. I was in an admin meeting from 10:30 to 12, then spent the next hour getting ready for my 1:00 meeting (I had about two minutes to spare!). I got out of that one at 2, then had to clear my voicemail and answer a few more general strange Radiology questions. Finally, at 2:20, I went to get some lunch. Someone in my 1:00 meeting was talking about a nurse in the department named Rita, which made me start to sing "Lovely Rita" to myself as I waited for the elevator. I�m amazed at how many of the words I know.
So there I was, waiting with some random man for the doors to open so we can travel to the lobby and I can go get my chicken soft taco, and I�m singing to myself. I was probably singing loudly enough that he could hear me a little bit, but I wasn�t belting it out or anything. The elevator arrives, we get on and push the buttons, the doors close and we start to move. He stood there and stared at me for a minute, then finally said, "What on earth are YOU so happy about?"
A list of possible answers went through my head. First off, just �cause I�m singing to myself, it doesn�t necessarily mean I�m happy. I sing to myself all the time. The morning after I found the Artboy in bed with Amanda, I sang to myself while waiting for the T. If I could sing there, then I assure you, happy has nothing to do with it!
But even going under the assumption that I AM happy, why make it sound like an accusation? I don�t get it. Is being happy that uncommon that it causes suspicion? Are we all so used to being in lousy moods that HAPPY is now a bad thing?
I finally just smiled and said, "Well, I�m on my way to lunch. Lunch makes me happy." Which is true, but it wasn�t why I was singing.
After finally losing the Scowling Man, I walked over to the Galleria to get my lunch. I like going to the burrito place because the boy who works behind the counter (I think he�s the manager) bears a striking resemblance to my 17-year-old Brian grown up. He�s got the same ponytail and the same hazel eyes, and he always smiles at me in that "let�s run away to Aruba together!" way. Granted, he�s never said anything to me other than, "Hi, what can I get for you today?" but it�s the way he says it that gets to me. He also has a gold band on his thumb, which makes us match. Today, I finally said to him, "I laugh every time I come over here, because you and I are wonder twins!" He smiled and blushed and said, "Yeah, I guess we are." Then he handed me my change and gave me that Aruba smile again.
Man, that chicken soft taco was good. He put extra sour cream on it, because he knows I�m that sort of girl.
It�s snowing out, just a little bit. Just enough to make me feel all Christmasy. It�s creating just the right mood for our party tomorrow night.
Sorry I�m not still standing with the Scowling Man. Now I know what I�m so happy about. I�d give him a much better answer now.
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