I never imagined a hissy fit might turn into a first kiss.
It’s Friday at 4:59 p.m. and I’m fit to be tied. I love the guys I work with 97.3% of the time. They are charming, helpful, and a little overprotective of little ole me. We tell jokes. I bring them baked good. Seriously, it’s usually all good.
But here lately they’ve fallen in what I’ll assume is an unconscious bad habit. They’ve started asking me to do things they are perfectly capable of doing themselves. And it’s driving me nuts.
I get it. It happens a lot. My mind works quick. I hold a lot of tiny details in my head. I usually know the answer and I’m not great about teaching others to fish. I’m more of a “here, just give it to me and I’ll do it” type.
Teachable moments annoy me. I’ve got no patience for them and sometimes I pay the price.
Back to Friday. As I sat training the new girl, the crew piled in. Each of them stopped by my desk, vomiting details and to do items. Then the phone rang. Then a customer came in. Incoming, incoming. I felt like I was in a fox hole being pecked to death by a thousand ducks.
“Enough,” I finally screamed as I threw down my headset and left the room.
They weren’t really fazed. I do this. I’m a big fan of the southern hissy fit. I get mad. I explode. I let off steam. Ten minutes later I’m over it. I’m like a pop up thunderstorm … amusing, intense, and mostly harmless.
Anyways, I left mad … steaming actually. I gave them a stern talking to on my way home I’ll tell ya. Somewhere across the Coffee County line, I decided to go have one cocktail and unwind before I headed home.
I headed to my favorite watering hole, ordered a single dirty martini, and opened a book. I do this a lot … sit at bars alone and read. It’s my thing.
Five minutes in, I noticed some friends from Lynchburg. I said hello, chatted for a moment, then returned to the bar to finish my drink.
More friends piled in and I felt genuinely happy to see them. Maybe it was the booze (wink). As I got ready to leave, they asked me to stay and so I did. We ordered more drinks. I kicked ass at the pool tables. I played an inappropriate song on the jukebox. I used to just call this Thursday but these days, nights out are rare.
I’d noticed him all night. He was part of the group but I’d never met him before that night. He possessed a boyish face cleverly hidden behind a nicely trimmed beard. There were dimples. The next thing I knew, I was stealing his fries. Then our legs touched under the table. Then he offered to walk me to my car. I’m sure there was more to it than that but that’s what I remember.
It was cold … like single digits cold, so when we got to my car, I asked him to get inside. That’s when he kissed me. Wow! Like one of those really nice, slow, beard scratching my face, knocked-it-out-of-the-park first kisses. Meow!
Then I left. He left. I haven’t talked to him since and that’s not the point.
I once read that Life’s always working in our favor … that even the bad things get used towards our highest good … even if we can’t connect all the dots at the time.
The guys a work being a jerk led me to need a drink, which led me to running into my friends, which led to me meeting someone new, which led me to a first kiss that gave me back my swagger and helped me finally close the book on that asshole ex-boyfriend of mine.
Maybe a Benevolent Universe is actually a thing.