As it turns out, I won’t be headed to Cumberland this weekend after all.
One of the girls boss’ is a complete asshat, and has decided that despite the entire company being given Monday off as an added holiday, he needs her and her team to run some last minute numbers in preparation for a presentation on Wednesday. It’s not an ER, they’re not saving lives, they’re not keeping a nuclear reactor cool, they’re running NUMBERS. They’re significant numbers, sure, but we’vehadthisfrackingvacationonthebookssinceFebruary! *sigh*. No use fighting The Man, he’s too strong for me.
All for one and one for all, we’ll try to reschedule for September, and head back for the glory that is the Rock Shrimp Festival…our anniversary of the three hour tour.
Any-hoe, in my mourning of the vacation that wasn’t going to be, I did what anyone would do. I went for a manicure and pedicure.
The ole mani-pedi is a treat I haven’t afforded myself or been able to afford since the impromptu condo purchase, and it was sooooooo the right thing to do. I love my sketchy little nail salon by the “murder Kroger”. I love that I walk in and I get a sincere greeting in charming broken English noting exactly how long it’s been and confirming I still have a clear/clear preference and I love that the woman who takes care of me doesn’t bother to try to make polite conversation as I bury my nose in a trashy detective novel and relish in the joy that is foot scrapeage, she just laughs when I wiggle because it tickles. Man. I’ve missed that. As if my outlook and my attitude hadn’t improved enough, she totally bonused me out with a shoulder rub. Did she know how stressed I was? Was my lack of movement that obvious? Does it matter? It was good stuff and confirmed my love.
Also on the bright side, the condo is clean (I hate coming home to chores), The Mc has been out of town all week and comes home Saturday – so I’ll get to see him early-ish, and my writing session with Aaron that had to be canceled last night can take place tonight.
I still believe everything happens for a reason, and who knows? Maybe – just maybe – that boss-man/chicken fucker will be responsible for the kink finally coming out of my neck.