Oh-So-Fond Memories
There was once a time, not so very long ago, that I was just getting to know my husband. We had been on a few dates, but we were far from the "boyfriend/girlfriend' stage of our relationship. At the time, I was still trying to convince him that I was normal. ;)
Albertson's had just recently been bought out by Associated Food's, and since I was working as a Front End Manager at the time, I was more than happy to sign away hours of my life to help it transition into a glorious Fresh Market. Woohoo, right?!? Right.
This particular day was spent working my tail-end off during the day, and then returning a few mere hours later to work until all hours of the morning replacing old Albertson's price tags with new Fresh Market tags. It is grueling work, just let me tell ya. Especially when some of the tags from Alberston's had been stuck on the shelf since 1980. They don't like to come off. . . in fact, they fight back. Which, of course, results in the corner of the price tag digging underneath your fingernail. For the millionth time. Most of the night was spend either bending over, sitting on the hard floor, or reaching up on tippy-toes to reach the top shelf in order to get all of those gnarly tags.
The one good thing about working overnight at my local workplace is that they allowed us to show up in our street clothes. Whoopie! We all set to work in various aisles, and a dear coworker of mine (whose name will be changed to protect my house from getting egged or my tires slashed), Phil, always seemed to be on the same aisle as myself.
Anywhoo, I won't go into detail about Phil, but just know that it was a no-go. A "run-away-as-fast-as-your-dear-legs-can-carry-you" no go. Yeah. Suffice it to say.
Something happened that night that horrified me. And I fought back and forth with myself about telling Chuck, like, forty times. I wanted to tell him because I wanted to share it with someone, and I didn't want to tell him because I was embarrassed. Well, as you can probably judge because this beast is being written, I ended up telling him. And luckily, I told him via e-mail so that you can share in the glorious experience!
Enjoy, my friends. Enjoy.
So... my night was quite the night. This you knew. But the icing on the cake came when Phil came up to me at about, oh, 11:45 as I was getting ready to close down the last till.
Now, before I tell you my funny, rather horrifying experience, I have to ask you a rather unorthodox question (which will hopefully make sense shortly) [Pretty sure I'm just traumatized so I think need an extra "umpf" to set myself right and calm myself down.]
Ready?
What do you think of my bum? Is it cute? Too big? Too little? hahahaha!
CHHHHUUUUCCCCKKKK!! I'm so embarrassed! :(
Well, remember when I explained my whole "tank top" idea the other night? The one where I tuck-in my tanktop so it acts as a modesty sheild to keep from flashing the entire world my backside? Turns out it doesn't always work, and apparently, Phil felt it a calling from on high to fill me in on this jewel of intell.
DUH.
Part of me wanted to say,
Dear Phil,
When a girl's zipper tops out at about approx. 1 1/2 inch in length, her pants aren't going to ride up to her elbows (especially in the back) and thereby save her from any potential embarassment down the road. It's not like anyone could really see anything anyway!
[trust me on that one!.... i hope... eeeeekk! Now I'm all paranoid again...]
UUUUUHHHGGGGHHHHH. Regardless, I turned bright red as he told me and suddenly had a keen interest in counting the coin change in my tower. No bueno.
I guess I'm doomed and I'm gonna have to pull an "Steve Urkel" and buy pants above my belly button and secure them with some hott red suspenders. Cause... don't deny it... that'd be pretty hott. ;)
Anywhoo, I just needed to vent to someone before my head exploded from horror, embarrassment, disbelief, and utter peeved-ness (that's TOTALLY not a word, but it's 1:14 in the morning of one of the longest, most interesting nights of my life, so it's just gonna have to do. =P) because I'm not even sure Phil is telling me the truth. Chances are he is, but we must also take into account that this is the same man who claims to be flashed by a topless woman at least once every 3 months... which is a mighty inconceivable feat if you ask me.
Wow! I'd better get back to my point before I go off on yet another Phil-fueled-tangent (let's just leave Beethoven out of this conversation to be safe ;) ):
My bum is currently feeling very self-conscious and it's trying to convince me to buy nothing but big, baggy, gray sweatpants, or, of course, the granny pants with the elastic band on the top.
:(
hahahahhahahaha! I'm sorry. You're probably sitting there, staring at your computer screen with your mouth hanging open. I know. I know. What an unconventional, weird, improper... uh... distasteful... odd? e-mail. (did I forget any??) So thank you for being a sweetheart and putting up with it anyway =D
Talk to you soon!
Jessica
Wanna hear my darling husband's response?? Well, too bad. You'll have to just wait and see if I post it later :)
Albertson's had just recently been bought out by Associated Food's, and since I was working as a Front End Manager at the time, I was more than happy to sign away hours of my life to help it transition into a glorious Fresh Market. Woohoo, right?!? Right.
This particular day was spent working my tail-end off during the day, and then returning a few mere hours later to work until all hours of the morning replacing old Albertson's price tags with new Fresh Market tags. It is grueling work, just let me tell ya. Especially when some of the tags from Alberston's had been stuck on the shelf since 1980. They don't like to come off. . . in fact, they fight back. Which, of course, results in the corner of the price tag digging underneath your fingernail. For the millionth time. Most of the night was spend either bending over, sitting on the hard floor, or reaching up on tippy-toes to reach the top shelf in order to get all of those gnarly tags.
The one good thing about working overnight at my local workplace is that they allowed us to show up in our street clothes. Whoopie! We all set to work in various aisles, and a dear coworker of mine (whose name will be changed to protect my house from getting egged or my tires slashed), Phil, always seemed to be on the same aisle as myself.
Anywhoo, I won't go into detail about Phil, but just know that it was a no-go. A "run-away-as-fast-as-your-dear-legs-can-carry-you" no go. Yeah. Suffice it to say.
Something happened that night that horrified me. And I fought back and forth with myself about telling Chuck, like, forty times. I wanted to tell him because I wanted to share it with someone, and I didn't want to tell him because I was embarrassed. Well, as you can probably judge because this beast is being written, I ended up telling him. And luckily, I told him via e-mail so that you can share in the glorious experience!
Enjoy, my friends. Enjoy.
So... my night was quite the night. This you knew. But the icing on the cake came when Phil came up to me at about, oh, 11:45 as I was getting ready to close down the last till.
Now, before I tell you my funny, rather horrifying experience, I have to ask you a rather unorthodox question (which will hopefully make sense shortly) [Pretty sure I'm just traumatized so I think need an extra "umpf" to set myself right and calm myself down.]
Ready?
What do you think of my bum? Is it cute? Too big? Too little? hahahaha!
CHHHHUUUUCCCCKKKK!! I'm so embarrassed! :(
Well, remember when I explained my whole "tank top" idea the other night? The one where I tuck-in my tanktop so it acts as a modesty sheild to keep from flashing the entire world my backside? Turns out it doesn't always work, and apparently, Phil felt it a calling from on high to fill me in on this jewel of intell.
DUH.
Part of me wanted to say,
Dear Phil,
When a girl's zipper tops out at about approx. 1 1/2 inch in length, her pants aren't going to ride up to her elbows (especially in the back) and thereby save her from any potential embarassment down the road. It's not like anyone could really see anything anyway!
[trust me on that one!.... i hope... eeeeekk! Now I'm all paranoid again...]
UUUUUHHHGGGGHHHHH. Regardless, I turned bright red as he told me and suddenly had a keen interest in counting the coin change in my tower. No bueno.
I guess I'm doomed and I'm gonna have to pull an "Steve Urkel" and buy pants above my belly button and secure them with some hott red suspenders. Cause... don't deny it... that'd be pretty hott. ;)
Anywhoo, I just needed to vent to someone before my head exploded from horror, embarrassment, disbelief, and utter peeved-ness (that's TOTALLY not a word, but it's 1:14 in the morning of one of the longest, most interesting nights of my life, so it's just gonna have to do. =P) because I'm not even sure Phil is telling me the truth. Chances are he is, but we must also take into account that this is the same man who claims to be flashed by a topless woman at least once every 3 months... which is a mighty inconceivable feat if you ask me.
Wow! I'd better get back to my point before I go off on yet another Phil-fueled-tangent (let's just leave Beethoven out of this conversation to be safe ;) ):
My bum is currently feeling very self-conscious and it's trying to convince me to buy nothing but big, baggy, gray sweatpants, or, of course, the granny pants with the elastic band on the top.
:(
hahahahhahahaha! I'm sorry. You're probably sitting there, staring at your computer screen with your mouth hanging open. I know. I know. What an unconventional, weird, improper... uh... distasteful... odd? e-mail. (did I forget any??) So thank you for being a sweetheart and putting up with it anyway =D
Talk to you soon!
Jessica
Wanna hear my darling husband's response?? Well, too bad. You'll have to just wait and see if I post it later :)
I do think you told me that aweful story! I must say, someone went wrong somewhere in designing jeans. aslo... I think poor "Phil" is doomed to single-hood. just sayin.
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