While my sisters joined my mother and other visiting wives in the kitchen during football season, I plunked myself down in the middle of the living room with the men, watched the games, and “sneaked” sips of my dad’s Budweiser. Continue reading →
Last month, I posted The Perils of Un-drunk Dialing, in which I poked fun at an ex-coworker for being less-than-adept in her use of voice mail and warned against misplaced drunk and sober texts, calls, etc.
Wrapping up a lovely brunch on Sunday with a few of my closest girl friends, we stood on the sidewalk for a few moments to say our goodbyes.
“It’s like we’re all waiting to hug each other,” my friend Jodi quipped.
“Well, you know that’s not on my mind,” I retorted.
Everyone laughed. They know I’m not a hugger.
Before you get all judgy and assume I need counseling for some deep-seeded aversion to affection, let me explain. It’s not that I don’t hug people. I just subscribe to a self-imposed hugging etiquette that’s evolved over time.
They were the focus of a PicMonkey infographic based on its survey of American adults. It turns out men in my age group are the worst offenders. I can attest to that based on the abhorrent profile pics I’ve seen on eHarmony. For Pete’s sake, men, get some friends and have them take your picture!
A few weeks ago, I posted D’oh!, an embarrassing confession about how I included a typo in the domain name I reserved for Awkward Laughter. Day 21 of Zero to Hero (I’m playing catchup) challenged us to revisit that post and expand upon it.
A woman from the lower-eastern U.S. speaking broken French sounds about as poetic as Dr. Suess in Swahili. Those were my initial thoughts after learning that I had the chance to go to Paris for the first time.
Nonetheless, I was determined to take advantage of my work trip to the UK and to make a detour to France, the homeland of my paternal grandmother’s family. Continue reading →