Joel and Daniel concluded jointly that my brief over-the-shoulder zing concerning schadenfreude was...bratty.
Petulantly as a princess, I don't rightly care.
I'm well-aware that some people come here only so they can feel better about themselves and several who come only so they can clap their hands with glee when very bad things happen to Bridget.
How do I know this? They wrote to me to let me know.
Even when I put it out there, I'm not putting much out there at all, Don't forget that and we'll get along just fine. Now pass the hummus and some bread, I am starved.
I left Sam's office better than what I found it in. I set up his voicemail and taught him how to use it, all the filing is now caught up, I had groceries delivered and I even booked the cleaning service and the guy who comes to plow and sprinkle salt so no one wipes out (Bridget). I stood in Sam's office looking around at the same brass rubbing on the wall in a frame that doesn't match it and a bookcase full of gentle God-centered self-help and a few aging spider plants and some or most of the same furniture and the room smelled very faintly of sandalwood. Just for one little tiny quiet moment that maybe didn't exist outside of my head for all I know.
