Mea Culpa. Sort of.

So I spoke too soon last night. It really wasn't Ibrahim's fault my tasty cheese dish went missing. Well, not directly his fault, any way. Apparently he brought it to work with him last night, and his manager, seeing that the container was three-fourths full and all, and who the hell would be interested in eating more of that old thing, threw it away. Rat bastard. Oh well. At least now there's an object on which to displace my anger at having to heat up a lowly, sad SmartOnes weight watcher meal last night instead of nosh on tasty goodness I'd been dreaming of all shift long. So, sorry, spouse, for besmirching your character, and a great big "Phooey on you!" to the guy that inadvertantly threw my supper away.

Also, as a sidebar. "It" happened again at work last night. "It" being the dreaded "Do you know that show, Grey's Anatomy? You know that character... you know, the one you look like? Sandra Oh! You look exactly like her!" Which I guess is a nice compliment, because at leas people don't tell me I look like one of the Olsen twins or Jack Black or something. But still, I'm pretty sure Ms. Oh would agree with me--we both look like ourselves, thank you very much. The funny thing about the whole scenario-- people get so damn excited when they tell me how much I look like her.

I should write Sandra a fan mail letter, "Dear Sandra: Did you realize how much you look like me? Well, neither did I until I worked in a hospital..." (Except I won't, because fan mail is a bit scary, although I once wrote a letter to Dan Quayle, of potato(e) fame. It was in eighth grade, I think, and my exact words as I recall were "Your ties look spiffy." I can't believe I actually wrote the word spiffy in a letter addressed to the Vice President of the United States. I think I was kidding. I'm not really sure any more. Eighth grade was a long time ago and I'm sure there's more stuff along those lines I'm glad I don't remember having done.