She can’t with me. 

I haven’t shared much since my old job. Which is a real travesty, since I have so many good stories lined up. (Don’t worry, screenshots are coming your way.)

Let’s just jump in real quick with a good share from today. I share my (tiny-used-to-be-a-storage-closet) office with two girls. This afternoon, between meetings I ran into the one we shall call Chiquita. She’s a nurse. 

So, Chiquita goes into a patient’s room with a giant needled shot. As she’s leaving I can hear her calling out, nicely: happy birthday. 

She sits down in our office. I turn towards her and say, inquisitively, “Did you just tell that patient happy birthday after giving her a shot?”

“While giving the shot. I said happy birthday!”

“Is it really her birthday?” I ask, stupidly. 

“Of course.”

As if Chiquita would never randomly say something weird. I am so dumb. Clearly. 

“And you shot her in the butt? On her birthday?” Why do I ask these things?

“I did.” 

“Usually when it’s your birthday, you usually get to DO the shooting in the butt. At least that’s what tv has taught me.”

She said she “can’t, with me.” And faced her computer screen with such conviction. As if she hadn’t thought of that herself. Or maybe she can’t (stop laughing) with me. (Because I’m so hilarious.) 

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