Saturday was one of those really super fun days that I had to work for 8 hours.
As I was getting home after a long, yet frustrating day surrounded by senior management peeps who can't make a decision to save their lives, it was just about dark. I'm hungry, tired and at about a zero on the patience level.
Mr. KK was standing out on the front lawn leaning on a hoe (the yard tool, not a tramp) talking to whom I guessed was a neighbor. (I don't know my neighbors; I'm convinced the think Mr. KK is either a widow or bachelor).
I drag myself out of the car and Mr. Neighbor waves at me and asks, "Just getting home from a long day of shopping?"
No. Just exhausted from kicking chauvanistic men in the nuts.
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2 comments:
How did you not kill him with the death glare from your eyes?
I say - let the dog do his business on his lawn for the next month - petty yes, but will it make you feel better - I think so!
i have a similiar-but-backwards story re: that.
i got home late from a party wearing a low-cut buttondown and pencil skirt. it was a saturday.
the creepy guy in front of my apartment says to me: how was work?
where does he think i work? deja vu?
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