Repeat: I’m glad I’m at the office today. Screenshot this sucker, people, because it may be the only time you ever hear me say that.
It’s not that work itself is so orgasmically glorious – au contraire, I just started working for a second Lawyer, whom we’ll call Litigator. In fact, we’ll call him The Litigator, and we’ll say it in deep voices with phony Austrian accents. This means that my normally light-and-fluffy workload has been increased by approximately 6,351 times, and now threatens to crush me at any moment.
So no, work itself is not why I’m glad to be here. I am glad to be here because it is going to hit ninety-two degrees in Los Angeles today, and my home is unblessed by air conditioning.
Ninety-two degrees! Eight days before the first day of Spring! I’m pretty sure that’s unacceptable, even in L.A. It was nearly this hot yesterday, too, and I was not best pleased. I sat out on my lovely patio to knit and had to slink back inside after maybe an hour, because I was developing unsightly sweat stains. The cats have made signs and are planning to take the bus down to town hall in order to picket. Or they were, before I reminded them that they spent all their bus money on Feline Greenies. Now they’re just going to write nasty letters to the Times.
Listen to Al Gore, people. The man knows whereof he speaks.