There may, seriously, be nothing that can salvage a sucky Tuesday more effectively than the following:
1- getting a 10 a.m. “Having a second breakfast, where are you and can you meet me?” text from your about-to-topple-over-pregnant friend
2-having the boss tell you, simultaneously, on the phone, “They haven’t shot-blasted the floor yet? Oh well, go have a latte or something.”
3-talking your better-behaved coworker into spending twenty minutes drinking said latte with aforementioned pregnant friend, and
4-enjoying it all on the sidewalk in front of Morning Times.
That was enough to get me through until lunch. Time, seriously, stood still this afternoon, if it didn’t actually move backwards a little. This Tuesday refused to hasten itself towards some sort of reasonable closure, refused to proceed normally, flat-out refused to make even the slightest effort to cooperate.
Having already played the peppermint latte card, my only other move was the 3:27 p.m. happy hour e-mail plea. Please, I beg you, give me a reason to keep going until 5, can we have a happy hour today, please please?
And so I dragged Veronica and Willow to the Raleigh Times, one storefront down from my earlier peppermint latte. Halfway into my second sidewalk beer, and minutes away from Thai chicken wings and loaded cheese fries, I started to feel better.
This Tuesday can suck it. I totally won.