after I (erroneously) dumped him, he couldn’t be so bad after all, right? How could I have missed his greatness?
Aside from the obvious, this development was disastrous. It threw a wrench in my plans. Barry was supposed to be pining for me, not panting after her. We had history. I was going to go to him, grovel, and get back in his good graces. And he was supposed to accept me back after a sufficient number of kisses (blech—I didn’t want to think about that).
Then he’d take me to Daphne’s party, propose to me with a honking rock, and then after a suitable amount of time I’d tell him we should break up. Or, better yet, I’d do something that would cause him to break up with me. That way, he’d save face.
Never call me ungenerous.
“This is not a problem,” I told myself firmly. There had to be something I could do. This was a salvageable situation. Why? Because it had to be.
I leaned back in the chair and dangled my head backward. I noticed the line of people waiting to use the computers, all of whom were giving me dirty looks.
I crossed my eyes at them and got up. I needed to move anyway. Moving would help me come up with a solution.
I walked around downtown, past Pioneer Square, up to Nordstrom. I walked down Broadway. Because I happened to pass by the Teuscher store (I didn’t plan it, I swear) I stopped in and bought a couple of champagne truffles—a couple as in four or five. I ate them on the way back to my car. The sugar rush gave me the boost I needed to figure out what to do.
I had to break up Barry and his new girlfriend.
Chapter Nine
Lessons Learned from MacGyver
#114
The decisions we make shape our lives.
Deciding to break Barry and his girlfriend up was one thing; actual execution was another.
I spent the entire weekend thinking about this. I turned off my cell phone and meditated on the problem (Dwight would have been so proud of me). I holed up in my room and plotted. I schemed. I made lists, threw them away, and recompiled them. I sketched out my war plan until every possible scenario was covered. MacGyver couldn’t have done better.
I was ready.
Daphne holed up all weekend too. In fact, she was so inconspicuous, I forgot she was there.
Until Monday morning. I stumbled out of my bedroom, moaning, my eyes half-shut. Somehow I made it into the kitchen and set a pot of water on to boil. I opened the cabinet where I kept my coffee paraphernalia. I got the beans, the grinder, and the press pot down.
As I was plugging in the grinder, I noticed something amiss. Something wrong. I scowled and picked it up.
Ajar of Folgers Crystals.
I shrieked. Sacrilege .
Then Daphne hurried out of her room with a coffee mug. She paused when she saw me, then joined me in the kitchen. “I thought you’d be at work by now.”
I glanced at the clock. “Only nine.”
“I know.” She frowned. “Won’t your boss be upset if you’re late?”
“Not late.”
She stared at me. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” Except you. But I didn’t say that. Honestly, I thought I was doing really well for not yet having my coffee. I was making words, after all. I could have been grunting.
I ground my coffee, caressed it into the press pot, and poured boiling water over it. I slumped against the counter and watched Daphne make herself another cup of that—that—Shudder. I couldn’t even think of anything horrible enough to compare Folgers to. I had to turn away as she drank it. Disgusting.
I mixed sugar into my cup and took it into the living room. Daphne followed, making ridiculously happy noises as she drank her shit. “I love this stuff,” she said as she sighed and settled onto one side of the couch.
I narrowed my eyes at her. Death wish. Is that what this was? But I made special dispensations because she was, technically, my sister.
However, I couldn’t help but say, “I thought coffee robbed your body of nutrients.” That earned me a frown and several minutes of
Aside from the obvious, this development was disastrous. It threw a wrench in my plans. Barry was supposed to be pining for me, not panting after her. We had history. I was going to go to him, grovel, and get back in his good graces. And he was supposed to accept me back after a sufficient number of kisses (blech—I didn’t want to think about that).
Then he’d take me to Daphne’s party, propose to me with a honking rock, and then after a suitable amount of time I’d tell him we should break up. Or, better yet, I’d do something that would cause him to break up with me. That way, he’d save face.
Never call me ungenerous.
“This is not a problem,” I told myself firmly. There had to be something I could do. This was a salvageable situation. Why? Because it had to be.
I leaned back in the chair and dangled my head backward. I noticed the line of people waiting to use the computers, all of whom were giving me dirty looks.
I crossed my eyes at them and got up. I needed to move anyway. Moving would help me come up with a solution.
I walked around downtown, past Pioneer Square, up to Nordstrom. I walked down Broadway. Because I happened to pass by the Teuscher store (I didn’t plan it, I swear) I stopped in and bought a couple of champagne truffles—a couple as in four or five. I ate them on the way back to my car. The sugar rush gave me the boost I needed to figure out what to do.
I had to break up Barry and his new girlfriend.
Chapter Nine
Lessons Learned from MacGyver
#114
The decisions we make shape our lives.
Deciding to break Barry and his girlfriend up was one thing; actual execution was another.
I spent the entire weekend thinking about this. I turned off my cell phone and meditated on the problem (Dwight would have been so proud of me). I holed up in my room and plotted. I schemed. I made lists, threw them away, and recompiled them. I sketched out my war plan until every possible scenario was covered. MacGyver couldn’t have done better.
I was ready.
Daphne holed up all weekend too. In fact, she was so inconspicuous, I forgot she was there.
Until Monday morning. I stumbled out of my bedroom, moaning, my eyes half-shut. Somehow I made it into the kitchen and set a pot of water on to boil. I opened the cabinet where I kept my coffee paraphernalia. I got the beans, the grinder, and the press pot down.
As I was plugging in the grinder, I noticed something amiss. Something wrong. I scowled and picked it up.
Ajar of Folgers Crystals.
I shrieked. Sacrilege .
Then Daphne hurried out of her room with a coffee mug. She paused when she saw me, then joined me in the kitchen. “I thought you’d be at work by now.”
I glanced at the clock. “Only nine.”
“I know.” She frowned. “Won’t your boss be upset if you’re late?”
“Not late.”
She stared at me. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” Except you. But I didn’t say that. Honestly, I thought I was doing really well for not yet having my coffee. I was making words, after all. I could have been grunting.
I ground my coffee, caressed it into the press pot, and poured boiling water over it. I slumped against the counter and watched Daphne make herself another cup of that—that—Shudder. I couldn’t even think of anything horrible enough to compare Folgers to. I had to turn away as she drank it. Disgusting.
I mixed sugar into my cup and took it into the living room. Daphne followed, making ridiculously happy noises as she drank her shit. “I love this stuff,” she said as she sighed and settled onto one side of the couch.
I narrowed my eyes at her. Death wish. Is that what this was? But I made special dispensations because she was, technically, my sister.
However, I couldn’t help but say, “I thought coffee robbed your body of nutrients.” That earned me a frown and several minutes of
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