Why Would I Want to Make This Up?
Let’s say that I have this friend. And this friend decides to tell me some information, see, about his sister-in-law who works in a maternity ward. We’ll call this friend Albert because that’s sort of a distinguished-sounding name. He’s a good guy and we pick on each other in the best possible way. You know, like I leave fake poop in different places in his office, see? And that’s funny because then he tells the entire poms team that they can leave their athletic bags (which are enormous) in my office so that I return and can barely open the door there’s so much junk crammed in there. Albert is a trustworthy guy and if he ever reads this blog he will probably crap his pants that I just named him “Albert.”
This is heading somewhere. I promise.
Albert has been in on some great pranks with me. Like that one time when we left maxi-pads stuck underneath another guy’s desk. As funny as we thought that was, however, just yesterday when I had a button come undone on my shirt due to my Godzilla Bra (you don’t want to know why I call it that) he was too embarrassed to tell me and let me leave his office looking like an idiot. There was a female student sitting in the office at the time and I asked her (cheerily, mind you, because I was in a good mood), “So! What are you doing in here?” and she replied, “Writing you this note.” That confused me so I walked over to her where she had written in caps:
GO INTO YOUR OFFICE AND FIX YOUR SHIRT.
Now, see Albert? Was that so hard? Couldn’t you have just said, “Dude. Fix your shirt.”? You wouldn’t have to mention the word “breasts” or “knockers” or even “Godzilla Boobs”. You just have to say something. Later that day I explained to him that this sort of thing falls under the umbrella of Not Looking Like an Asshole and that people, co-workers, friends – we do this for one another. So, Albert owed me big time. He shared that this sister-in-law had just had a mother come in and deliver twin girls. It’s at this point in the story that I must tell you to put down whatever you may be drinking. Sit back from your computer. Take a deep breath. Because I cannot make this crap up. I’m not interesting enough or creative enough to do this.
Are you ready? There’s no going back from here and you aren’t even wondering about the Godzilla Bra anymore.
She’Marvelous and She’Fabulous.
Those are their names. I’m sincerely hoping that this mother was brought in from a mental health facility because there are so many shades of stupid in that that I cannot begin to address it.
Albert: Can you believe that? Those girls will have to put that at the top of a resume someday.
Me: Not even. Those names are just going to be put on job applications and requests to be on reality shows. People with those names do NOT write resumes.




