At work today, I'm sewing giant burlap drapes for the next show. I have two helpers. One holds the drape coming out of the sewing machine, and one holds the slack of drape coming up over my shoulder, so nothing pulls and I can feed it easily. I am dictating madly to these two poor helpers. A lot of: "Don't let it twist!" "Hold it firm and flat!" "Don't touch the table; when it moves, my foot presses the peddle, and then everything goes to hell!" I was sitting on a rolling chair with a table-set industrial sewing machine on a dolly, rolling backwards and sewing this drape. I pause once: "I'm sorry to sound like a bitch," I say. "I don't mean to. I just want things done correctly." "You're not being a bitch," says my boss, where he's lingering beyond my peripheral. "You're just being clear with what you want." Fair. He also told me, in more words, that I was a valuable employee, and if I needed or wanted anything, all I had to do was say the word. "Aaaaaaaaaanything?" I ask, wickedly. "Anything," he says firmly. I think for a moment. "Can you find my cookie dough? It's in the building somewhere." He just laughed, but I was serious. I have a freakin' tub of double chocolate cookie dough with -- literally! -- my name on it, somewhere in the building. And I can't bloody find it. But I am assured it's in a freezer somewhere, waiting for me to pick it up... Anyway, it's time for me to sleep. Come see the show. . Rosie.
Before&After
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