My Tuxedo

I don’t know if I’ve even mentioned that my brother-in-law is getting married in a few weeks. I’m in the wedding party (and most likely the only short one in the party –I know 2 others are basketball players and I’m sure I’ll get placed right next to them. What can I say? People a foot taller than me are a pet peeve.

Regardless, it was a hassle-and-a-half to get measured for my tux. First, the girl was gone for lunch when I got there. Now, I’m not saying she doesn’t deserve a lunch, but maybe she shouldn’t take it the same time everyone else is (and obviously, the other 6 guys there were thinking exactly what I thought: “I’ll go on my lunch break to get fitted”). So, I opt to come back in 30 minutes when she’s supposed to be back, but she doesn’t show up. No, no: She’s 15 minutes late and I now have 5 minutes left on my lunch break.

Actually, that’s not true. I never have time to take my coffee breaks, so I usually end up taking a 90-minute break. My boss can’t complain ‘cuz we’d just start taking our regular coffee breaks and he’d be desperately searching for us to help out with things (ah, traditions). So, I actually have 35 minutes left, but I haven’t eaten yet today and a hungry Hoser becomes a grumpy Hoser. Give me food.

Nope, I wait for the girl to show up and take my measurements. She finally gets to me (after a lecture from nearly everyone in front of me – she’s in a great mood by the time it’s my turn). Arm: fine. Legs: (whoo-hoo! Hello?) Fine. Waist: 37. What? 37? Hey, I know I’ve been on holidays, but I don’t think I ballooned 5 pant sizes in 3 weeks!! But no, she insists I’m a 37 and my disagreeing isn’t helping her mood. Like telling me I’m a 37 is helping the situation. I ask her to take it again (can she spare 3 seconds????) and I notice this time that the tape is around my waist on the left and is hanging below my pocket line on the right. No kidding it’s a 37 –I more the tape to my waist. She sighs and still says ’37.’

Fine. Didn’t want to eat again anyway.

Oh! Yeah, back at work and the idiots have been running loose. Living up to Co-Worker From Hell designation, Drama Queen sent out an email message to 900+ people about a new “work oppurtunity” in our office area. Yeah, she spells opportunity with a ‘U’. I should ask her to remind me what she majored in for her bachulur’s dugree.

Idiots: 2

Meanwhile, 180 degrees elsewhere… I’m stopped at a red light today (red lights are my friend) and look into the vehicle next to me. And there’s an office-buddy-slash-confidante-slash-friend of mine from back in ’98. I honk and get her to pull over so we can chat for the first time in close to a year (I think). I seem to have done that with a number of people, but she’s one I regret not talking to in a while. At least the guilt-factor was mutual…

Okay, I checked. Apparently the last email was in April, but a physical discussion has been years in the making. 3 years maybe? Still feeling guilty, but it was great to talk to her again.