Today, after a long internet silence, I decided to bring back Five Word Wednesday. And oh ya'll, do I have something good!
So, about this time last year I wrote about Pumpkin Spice Girl. She was very popular. In fact, I got requests from several of you to make her into a book. So when I saw one of my lists of words for today, I knew I had to continue Pumpkin Spice Girl's story.
So first, to refresh your mind, here's the story from last year:
I swear, one more mention of pumpkin spice anything and I will lose my mind.
I tap my keyboard and stare at my co-worker Jane as she swirls her Starbucks cup. She's more in love with pumpkin than with her husband I think. I hate this time of year.Leaves! Sweaters! Fires! Snuggling! Perfect for cute girls who have some hottie to snuggle with, and who can wear leggings with boots and have it not look like they need surgical tools to extract their flesh from them later. I look down at my cotton pants (with a hint of spandex, thank God) and sigh. Even if I liked pumpkin, how many calories are in those things? Probably just as many as my hot chocolate splurge (made with real milk and probably what amounts to a week's pay in Ghiradelli). Heaven help me, I need a life.
I jump at my name and nearly knock over my (still full) water bottle. Dean stands in my doorway and I'm sure what I have is a deer-in-the-headlights look on my face. Because of course my boss catches me daydreaming and not working. I plaster a smile on my face. "Yes?"
Dean ambles over and leans against my desk, as if whatever he has to say is not insignificant but not urgent either. Figuring out Dean is like navigating a corn maze; seemingly simple, but harder than one would think. On one hand, he's Mr. Boss. Has it all together. Good at his job. On the other hand: his wardrobe. I glimpse now at his checkerboard Vans and wonder if they're against company dress code. He looks like a college kid, and not like he's thirty.
"Working hard?" he asks me.
"Or hardly working," I quip.
He smiles at me. "You got any plans for this weekend?"
As if. "Sadly, no."He glances at the mile high stack of papers on my desk and then back at me. "You want some?" Before I can even begin to wonder how to respond he speaks again. "I just poured over the company manual and interestingly enough, me taking you out doesn't violate anything." His brown eyes linger on my face and that is the only thing keeping me from peeing my pants. "Well," he says. "What do you say?"
Let’s continue the saga, shall we?
I let my hands hover over the keyboard, the cursor winking at me like some psychotic pervert. My heart thunders in my chest while my brain remains irritatingly silent. What should I say? This is not a big deal. It's just an email. I mean heavens, Dean just asked me out two days ago. And out first date hasn't even happened yet (though it will begin in 5 hours and 41 minutes, not that I'm neurotically counting or anything).
The first email came yesterday. Into my company box, but not from his company email. Just how much has he been studying that company manual? I’ve probably read the email forty times since then, and am just a heart spasm away from printing it out and pasting it in my diary.
Some days, I think I’m one step away from turning into a crazy cat lady.
Yesterday, my brain actually worked and I'd typed out a cute reply to Dean’s email.
Then he sent another.
And on it had gone every couple of hours since then.
Nothing personal or deep. Just cute. No need to get serious, Kacey. Though who am I kidding, I’m half way to planning our wedding already. I haven’t been on a date in three years. And three years of attending weddings for every college friend I had meant I have a list of criteria for men I date.
No prison record.
And that’s it.
But heck, if Dean was a tattooed ex-con the size of my Honda I’d have been tempted to say yes.
And now he wants to take me to a Fall Festival. Pumpkins everywhere. Gah, who wants something that comes from a gourd anyway? But it could be fun. Without permission, my mind concocts a cozy scene of me in dark jeans, great lipstick and a perfect hairstyle, cuddling up to Dean because we both just figured out we are soul mates.
When more than likely I’ll be wearing my faded bootcuts that hopefully cover up my muffin top (don’t reach for that leftover bagel in the break room, Kace), and I'll slather on Chapstick all night. No! Gosh, then Dean’ll think I want him to kiss me. This is casual. Just a first date.
With my boss.
My boss whose hair is way more adorable than I first realized and who wears Vans and jeans to work. Gah, he looks cute in jeans. I wonder what he wears under them. An image of Dean in boxer shorts flashes in my head. Darn you mind, you feeble thing.
Casual my butt. I am in so much stinking trouble.