Tuesday, December 21, 2004

But Soft! What Slime From Yonder Nostril Leaks?

I am an unwilling audience member of a grand mucous choir. The train, the subway, the walk to work, and the surrounding cubes are all filled with the heavenly music of snorts, horks, honks, wheezes, hocks and gurgles, whose varied timbres weave a tapestry of aural delight. O the bacterial joy of a cold season spent on public transportation! O the fine oceanic mist that sprays forth from yonder old man's mouth! O pea-green gob, arcing from trachea to concrete!

Not even half a cup of tea into my morning, I broke the heel of my boot. This has proved much more distressing than I expected, because the boots were my favorite shoes--it's paining me to talk about them in the past tense--and they were also high-heeled. I'm precariously balanced on even heels; on one high-heel and one jagged stump I'm a menace. My new gait has an up-and-down quality which makes people think I'm peeking over their cube walls when I pass through their peripheral vision, so I've gotten a fair number of full-on accusatory glances, most of which have melted into general looks of pity or amusement.

Lest you think I'm not a resourceful gal, know that I tried taping the heel back on (an unqualified failure). I am currently investigating snapping off the other heel. Such a plan requires either a cooperative heel or complete boot removal, neither of which has been a viable option. The remaining heel appears to be hanging on for dear life, no matter how hard I pull on it. I just wonder what people suspect I'm doing when they see me red-faced and straining at my desk. I briefly toyed with the idea of putting up a sign that says I SWEAR I'M NOT POOPING!, but decided against it.

Though I'm sure this topic is no longer of interest to any party besides myself, I find the Hot Dad terribly exciting, so at every possible juncture I'm going to inflict news of him on anyone reading. Yesterday was the first day I had seen him in something like a week, and I didn't even know he was on the train until he poked me in the arm to say hi as he walked to the door. A good conversation yielded difficult-to-obtain personal data, including the fact that he's a drummer (though it's unclear whether that's his profession). This is so hot I want to puke.

O peristalsis of emotion! O fount of Lo-Carb Breakfast Bar!


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Once, the hells of my favorite boots fell off. This was in tenth grade, and the boots in question were chunky platforms. I took them to a shoe place around the corner and they fixed them for like $20. I feel that you should consider this option. It's like when a tooth falls out and you save it in a glass of milk so the dentist can ram it back into your jaw. Only I don't think you should put the hell in a glass of milk. Somehow, I don't think the shoe repair guy would appreciate that.
Get ready for some holiday mucous caroling: I'm a basist in the flegm orchestra, and I'll be back in town soon to... uh... spread some holiday cheer.

1:36 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Jesus: the "hells?"
I clearly meant the "heels".
It's not my fault, I swear. I have written TWO 20 page papers in the last few days and I have another one due tomorrow. Hence the comment-posting.

1:37 PM  
Blogger JMH said...

you know, i've read a bunch of blogs, but i still come back to your's as being the best. as if no one has ever told you this before: YOU ARE SO DARN FUNNY. You're writing is brilliant, I am in total admiration of you. Not to be over the top here, but you've got mad skills.

3:25 PM  
Blogger What'sHerFace said...

Well thank you kindly! I swear, though, it's just the product of a boring job. If I ever become a big-shot editor at a great publishing company with a movie-star boyfriend, this is gonna go right to shit.

3:35 PM  
Blogger Buckley said...

So I've previously only ever come across the word 'timbre' twice in my life: first, in a boys band for orphans and delinquants (No - I shan't be disclosing which category I fall into), and secondly in Paris as it is french for 'stamp' in the postal sense of the word.

Ms. Face, you are vocabolous!

12:08 PM  

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