more animals
Actually, with age comes detachment.
Joy: “Well, I recommended some edits that we may not have time to make; feel free to stet them.”
Good Texan: “Believe me; I will.”
Joy: “But, you know . . . some of those typographical issues should really be fixed.”
Good Texan: “Maybe. They tell me some of those files may have gone to the printer.”
Joy: “Whaaaaat? Like that? Do they think that because people shoot, they are freakin’ illiterate?”
Good Texan: “They’re just playing the odds.”
Joy: “Yeah; that’s what spammers do.”
Good Texan: “Okay. Get out of here.”
Joy: “What if we settle on, say, making about a third of my corrections?”
Good Texan: “You’ll be lucky if one in ten of ’em gets through.”
Joy: “Okay; I can take it. I’m only 46, and I’m a dying breed.”
I spent the rest of the morning drowning my sorrows in coffee. Fortunately, the coffee in my office is decent, for corporate stuff.
h/t: CalTech Girl, who is cooking again. I’m feeling quite domestic, myself, too: I may make my sandwich tomorrow, instead of buying lunch at the office. On the other hand, maybe I won’t . . .
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Ha! I was almost going to send you a link to this LOLcat last night about the time it looks like you posted this.