September 14, 2013 § 13 Comments
Her whole job is an exercise in short-term memory.
Which one gets scrambled. Which gets over-easy. Which cup gets topped off with high-test, which with decaf.
She’s so dog tired some days she only knows right from left if she looks at her hands: regular right, decaf left.
She’ll top off his cup, then ask, “You mind getting that big door? My hands are kinda full.”
She’ll be wearing her white support hose, hopefully without runs–and hopefully it will be close to payday, so she’ll just have had her hair done.
Couldn’t hurt to stride into glory looking good.