[NOTE: This post was a writing assignment. But no, the criteria were not what you might think.]
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Darn those black, reflective windows, anyway: you can’t see in, and so forget that people can see out. It’s gotten so no place is safe for a little nose maintenance!
Rats: now that co-worker won’t look me in the eye.
This begs the question: What’s the statute of limitations on “awkward”? I mean, really: can either of us recover? Does one of us have to quit our job? (It’s not going to be me; I hand-picked this one, hehe.)
Nahh. Something tells me we won’t be talking about this, years down the road. People who do that are stupid. Rehashing is only a good thing in illicit drug circles.
Which begs another question: What is it that compels us to keep talking about bad things that happened to us years ago? For one thing, it’s not very creative. (How ‘bout them apples, coming from a person writing about boogers?)
And another thing, if we’re not careful, reliving old offenses can inadvertently open old wounds. (Speaking of nose maintenance.) There you are, rambling along, regaling your pals about that nasty break-up in 1990, and one of them is secretly reeling because he just got jilted. (Remember “Seinfeld”? “It wasn’t a full-pick!”)
Frankly, I chalk it up to the fact that we thrive on drama. We’re like lonely debutantes, replaying the same tear‑jerker movie every year, Kleenex in hand. (Maybe I should keep some handy around those dreaded black windows!)
I guess this phenomenon of re-living bad days is all part and parcel of the learning curve. We think that by playing the re-run, we will somehow sort out the strange. And, yes, that does happen; things often bubble to the top. (For that, you need 3-ply.)