Ms. Manners

Okay. So here's the thing. Sharing an office isn't as great as having my own, but it's really not that bad either.

Except . . .

What am I supposed to do when I have gas?

Mind you, it doesn't happen to me a lot. But it does, occasionally, happen.

And I'm nervous about how to handle it.

Before, it didn't really matter. But now I've got five other people at my mercy.

And vice versa!

Which is another question.

What do you do when someone else has gas? Does that ever happen? Is there cubicle etiquette I should be aware of? Do we warn each other? Is that what it means when someone has to go "check the fax machine?"

Any other office-sharing landmines (so to speak) I should be aware of?

Is is okay to eat tuna fish for lunch?

Talk about Lilly's poops with Chris during lunchtime phone call?

Eat candy if I don' have enough to share?

Last week: Thoughts, Observations, Lesson's Learned

1) Good lord. Lilly just poked me in the nose so hard that she may have broken her finger.

2) I understand the dying-in-the-cold scene in Jack London's novels a little better now. It would, apparently, be quite cold.

3) I'm going to go ahead and file "anal fistulas" under T, for Things I've Accidentally Read About that I Now Actively Hope Not to Experience.

4) While researching for a lecture on bullying in schools I found out that "teasing overweight girls" is on the list of things you shouldn't Google search because it's not going to return what you think it's going to return.

It's like I live in a wildlife preserve

I was sitting in bed yesterday when, from, TWO INCHES AWAY,

Peep.

Peep-peep-chirp.

Furiouisflappingfuriousflapping

Like, RIGHT BEHIND MY FRICKING HEAD.

I was leaning against the wall which is actually the fireplace wall that we have put our bed in front of. Because fireplaces are actually less useful than walls 'round here.

There was a BIRD trapped in our chimney.

It was upset.

Which made me upset.

But I couldn't exactly imagine pulling our king-sized bed away from the wall and opening the fireplace so it could fly out, frantic and soot-covered, into my bedroom.

But the alternative to that was listening to it die a slow and painful death in there.

Which might be hard to sleep through?

Fortunately, I came up with a third alternative:

Go to Target and forget about the bird.

It actually worked quite well. By the time I went to bed last night, the bird had either escaped or died. But I'm going to go with escaped.

It seems likely that the bat (you all may have heard about The Bat) came from the same place.

We should probably go ahead and get that chimney capped.

It's nice to know I'm not just grumpy

Yesterday as I was driving Sam and Owen to the grocery store, Sam started in with his usual,

"What is a bruise?" and "How do we laugh?" and "What does it mean to jump?"

Owen piped up and asked, "What is a cookie?"

And I just laughed. Because his tone of voice was so . . . familiar. It was clear he was imitating his brother. Which means that I'm not crazy. That Sam is asking an absurd number of questions recently. Even Owen is noticing.

Also, I know what a cookie is.

Then Owen asked, "What is a jumrip?"

"A what-now?"

"A jumrip. What is a jumrip?"

Okay, now you're just making stuff up.