Tweet It took our office rep forty-five minutes to run three minutes down the road, pick up lunch, and bring it back.
Forty-five minutes is a long time.
To a hormonal, pregnant lady whose back aches, belly is stretched beyond repair, and who only consumed a can of A&W Root Beer and a handful of Hot Tamales gummy cinnamon candies, forty-five minutes could mean life or death. Not of the pregnant woman... but to the clod who offered to pick up lunch (who we all know just needed an excuse to swing off and stop by his house first).
I'm finding it incredibly difficult to focus lately. My whole body aches and I swear there's got to be a tumor at the base of my skull. I'm a habitual leg crosser whose legs no longer cross... or, when they do, happen to cause all blood circulation in my lower extremities to cease. By 10:00 in the morning I'm completely wiped out. I walk across the office to throw garbage away just to keep me from falling asleep at my desk. Even my snarky sarcasm has taken a hit. Instead of providing rapid-fire wit, I've been reduced to head nods and sighs. There is no fun in that.