Leah Touches Everything

Hey. Good morning. Woke up at 4:30, figured I might as well get my coffee on.

I need to drink caffeine free even on the weekends at night. Because I’m still getting up Friday and Saturday nights and stuffing my face. I had had a good day right up until then, too, with my one piece of pizza at lunch and my peanut butter Halo Top after dinner.

And my millions of steps yesterday.

To tan or not to tan for next week. That is the question. What’s the point if I have to wear those giant shirts? I don’t think any of my shorts fall lower on my legs than the shirts do.

That is to say, my shorts are too short to wear with the shirts; you wouldn’t even see them under the shirts, probably. It’s not that I’m being slutty, it’s that long shorts look stupid on short women. What, they do!

Ah, the forecast projects seasonal temperatures next week. So it’s not an issue. I will most likely be wearing my ill-fitting jeans. I do have one pair of 14s.

Here comes your cold weather.

This tiny woman, yesterday, says to me she is heavy for her size because she is all muscle. The only thing that jiggles on her are her boobs. And not all that much, I think to myself. Is that mean?

I used to be small-breasted. In high school, I had nothing. In college, nothing. But I was also little, like her.

Ten years ago, I told a young woman who worked in my classroom that I was flat-chested in my youth and she said, “Really? You?”

It is weird to go from nothing to what I have now, which I would say is pretty decent.

But of course, I’ve expanded in plenty of other areas, too. Weight gain and child birth have dramatically reshaped me, it goes without saying.

Anyway, this little woman is fascinating to me. She has the very opposite problem of what I have. She has an extremely inflated sense of self. She tirelessly brags about herself to anyone and everyone about her achievements, her abilities, her…assets. She used to really piss me off, but I think I’ve gotten used to it. Plus, for some reason, she seems to like me.

People do. Because I’m easy to get along with. I’m a good worker. I’m quiet, and that actually sells when you’re a grownup. I’m reasonable.

But I don’t let people push me around, either. The women down the middle, shouting requests to me as I walk by them: “Is it in the system?” I call back, “Put it in the system.”

That dude trying to wear me down, that’s finally done. I’m not trying to be mean. Just, you know, no thank you. Now if I can somehow get that other guy to stop leering, I won’t feel like I have to take any detours on the floor, anymore.

If it’s impacting the quality and efficiency of my work, I wonder if it’s time to go to HR.

There’s a part of me that still feels like a jerk, and I absolutely shouldn’t; intellectually, I know that. No one should be leering at anyone else at work. It’s creepy. There’s a time and a place for that kind of behavior, and it’s called skeevy nightclubs.

There are tasteful and inoffensive ways to convey interest in someone, even at work, and that doesn’t bother me. Especially in a place where no one ever sees anyone else’s fingers and or people are not even wearing their rings half the time. But when you are over-the-top, relentless, and gross about it? Shame on you.

I found out today that one of the guys I work with occasionally has been married for a year. I still can’t get my head around him being married, though.

In fairness to him, he only behaves weirdly around me. I’ve seen him talk to other women. Maybe I skeeve him out.

Sidebar: skeeve: not a real word.

Maybe it’s in my head. Maybe he thinks I’m weird, too.

He’s not wrong. I’m pretty far from normal.

What’s normal, though? And who would want to be it?

Anyway, I hope you have a good morning. Desmond is up. Talk later. 😊

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