CHAIR DANCING

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

M. brought The Mirror of Truth to work. She waves it in the air like it's a magic orb from another world.

"I don't know if you are ready for this," she tells me.

"I'm not," I say.

M.'s Cube Mate is brave enough to take a look. Lo and behold, The Mirror of Truth must really work because the expression on her face was one of grave concern and absolute concentration as she studied her nose magnified in The Mirror of Truth's reflection.

"Do you see the party happening in your pores?" M. asks. "Tequila!" She kicks her leg out and imitates the Rumba. Without warning, M. nearly falls out of her chair because her foot catches on the seat. Instead of losing her cool, M. acts as though she intended to nearly fall out of her chair. She starts moving from front to back in exaggerated body gestures. "It's my new dance, Jake. What do you think?"

"I dunno," I tell her. "Chair dancing?"

"Don't be so negative." M. grabs a small stuffed bear from her desk and sets him on her knee. "Jake," she explains, "this is my new look for you." She moves the bear's entire body from side to side, making him look like he is shaking his head in disgust. "And if I approve, it looks like this." She tilts the bears head forward two times. "See?"

M. takes the bears small paw and makes him repeat a certain motion near his crotch. "Actually, it would be more like this." She moves her hand faster and busts up laughing.

Of course, the morning would not be complete without M. telling me to read the Psychology Today magazine on JEALOUSY. "You say you've read this, but I don't think so. I don't think so." She stuffs it down her pants again and sits slouched back. Her Cube Mates gives her a weird look.




*A friend of mine read yesterday's entry about M. putting toilet paper on the bottom of her shoe and asked me if I was absolutely positive M. doesn't know about this blog. I understand why the question was asked because it might seem like M. purposely 'hams it up' for her readers, but rest assured, I am capturing the essence of M. in her natural work environment. She has no idea about any of this.

If she did, I have a feeling her antics would include little side notes for me to put into the blog specifically for her readers. As long as I can keep the secret for three more months, I'll have enough entries to give M. her very own diary for Christmas.