Best Laid Plans

I may be dressed for Southie. But I’m not in Southie.

James is out with car trouble, so I’m doing what I normally do, which is fine, too. Cus it means I’m working with my buddies. My peeps.

I have a fingernail that’s increasingly resembling the point of an arrow. Or a dagger.

So don’t mess with me.

It’s been a pretty uneventful day thus far. I’m getting a haircut this afternoon. I don’t have any funny or interesting anecdotes to share.

Atomic F-bomb is in here. He’s always very nice to me, though. He calls me “Dear,” but pronounces it “Dee-ya.”

Rick dropped tons of F-bombs, too. Usually, it doesn’t really bother me.

Most men are careful around me until I start cussing, too. Then they let loose.

I use the F-word sparingly in front of others. I use it more if I’m in my car and no one else can hear me. Is that weird?

Gemba walk must be over, Gavin just walked in.

Oops, I should probably get going. Have a good rest of your morning. Make something awesome happen for me.

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