love/hate relationship with the snooze bar

This morning, as I had little dreams between the 7 minutes of snooze time, I somehow decided that getting of my bed would be a dreadful thing to do and that I should call in sick. The time was getting later and later. I should stay in, I thought, I should get my rest, I think I'm getting sick....Yeah, yeah. Sick. Right.

But I belligerently went into work anyway, because I know that I'm not actually sick, I just want to be so I don't have to feel guilty about missing work. I brought a package of tissues with me in the car ride and looked at my cracked lips and dry skin in the mirror. "I look a mess." Before I left my car I grabbed the handsantitizer out of my car and put it in my purse as not to spread my "germs," my "I don't feel like being at work germs."

I'm so good at lying to myself that I actually feel ill today. All of my muscles ache and I got green tea for my sore throat. A woman in the elevator asked me how I was, when she saw me carrying tissues. I mustered up a pathetic "oh, I'll be just fine." sigh. What should I have really said? "Oh these? Oh I'm just using these as a prop because I'm ten minutes late coming into the office. See, I didn't want to get out of bed today and I hit the snooze bar too long, so I want my bosses to feel sorry for me, take pity on me, but still think I'm the most fantastic worker for coming in on my death bed, and hell, maybe even send me home."

But, by now, I've already offically convinced myself that I'm sick. Theresa just told me that our boss felt sick yesterday and she thinks that she got it from him. He leaned over to her in a meeting, without a smile on his face, in his French-African accent and deep voice: "Have you ever had malaria? That's what I feel like today." holy shit! Right? I'm slurping down my green tea now.

I was in the hallway this morning when, Fran, the oldest lady in the world came up to me. She was still in her long, down coat from the 70s, and she had her hand bag, and her cell-phone in one of those umbrella bags. She must be 4ft tall. She has a hard time hearing and leans in close to talk to you. (I was convinced that my germs would get on this defenseless woman and I held my breath.)

First thing, she asked me how old I was. So I told her, and she patted the backside of my hand "oooh, that's perfect." Fran went on to tell me about how she met this nice young man at his grandfather's funeral in Pennsylvania and he just recently moved here. He promised to give her a call when he got into town because they had such a nice conversation. (at this point, it was getting very, very difficult to hold my breath.) Fran told me all of the details about how the united way gave her a gift certificate for dinner and she thought that this would be a nice way to spend it. Anyway, they had a fantastic time, and she told him that she would try to set him up with some nice girls in Baltimore...and she went on to say what he did for a living and that he is very intelligent and kind.

I had to lean in really close and tilt my head a lot to tell her that I had a boyfriend, but thought it was so very nice of her to think of me. I thought her heart broke. Fran seemed crushed. All of her plans were spoiled. I told her that she should give him my email address and maybe he can meet up me and a bunch of my friends. I told her, "I went to Goucher, I know lots of nice young ladies." This seemed to make her happy. But I think I told her that I'd hang out with this guy I don't know and try to introduce him to some of my friends. So, I'm sorry friends, I'm introducing you to strangers and you probably don't find it half as engaging or delightful as I do. But, he must be awesome, he went out on a date with Fran, the nicest lady on the planet. Let's be his friend.

(By the way, Fran, the cutest old lady has an identical twin sister who is on the board at the family center. One day, I really hope to see them together, preferably holding hands in matching hats.)