I am turning into a creepy old lady. I knew it would happen, I just didn't know it would begin before I was even thirty. I should probably specify that the creepiness only relates to little kids. I'm talking to strange little kids all the time- in the bank, at the grocery store, while I pump my gas, etc. And each time I get the same reaction- they hide from me. And I can't blame them. Why am I talking to them? What do I want? On some level, am I actually considering kidnapping one of these cute little kids? I think I might be. Somebody put a baby in me already!

Yesterday was Bring Your Daughter To Work Day, and one of my bosses brought his two little girls with him. And I let the girls sit with their daddy for all of ten minutes before I finally gave into my urges and approached them. "Who wants to see where we keep the money?" I cried out to the little girls. "Who wants to see the vault??" And they shyly exchanged glances with each other, and daddy, then clasped hands with each other as to create a metaphorical alliance, and proceeded to follow me back to the vault. Then I showed them how to make copies, and it was all over- the kids were mine for the rest of the morning. We mailed out some letters together, and I want to pre-emptively apologize to the recipients of these letters. These letters were not folded, they were simply crammed into the envelopes by adorable little girls who have never had to stuff envelopes before. "Why don't you tape the envelopes shut?" I said to them, sliding over my tape dispenser and then turning to do something else. A second later, I look back and notice that they've used my whole roll of tape, each envelope circumferenced several times with yard-long strips of unevenly applied tape. "That's okay, good job," I said, and then I asked them to put stamps on the envelopes. Which they did, upside down. But who am I to correct somone else's children? We walked over to where the outgoing mail went and I just prayed that my client wouldn't think that their banker was too retarded to properly mail a letter. Whatever, man! I kind of am.

And so the fun continued.

Seriously, though, I need to tone it down a bit.

I have been busy pretty much nonstop, which is so unlike me. I've had something going on every weekend since we got back from Austin, and this weekend is no different. Tonight, drinks with Gail and Rob and this guy Tim and tomorrow night more drinks with Jess and Tara. Next week, Lisa's baby shower, which for sure should be an interesting time, all things- and I do mean, all things- considered. Last weekend was Marcia and Mark coming up for a trip to the comedy club and a sleepover party, and the weekend before that was two days of binge drinking in Lake Geneva with Dan, Mike, and two girls named Meg. And Chris- Chris was there, but I never mention that he's there because I simply, mentally, include him when I say "I." We've morphed into one. That's what happens after three years of marriage. Which, by the way, we celebrated this past Tuesday. Craziness. How it's lasted this long, I can't explain. I'm not easy to live with. In fact, if I could break up with me, I would. But here I am, living the dream. Living the dream.