I’m watching the part in “Working Girl” where Melanie Griffith has to quick get her sh*t out of Sigourney Weaver’s fancy apartment. Melanie doesn’t have time to cover up her strapless bra and high-waisted undies, she has to vacuum, NOW! There was a lot of panty prancing in 80s cinema, remember?
I myself am not prancing anywhere for the rest of the night. I’m suffering from a serious head cold brought on by the sneeze of a small child on Sunday, lack of sleep on Monday and Tuesday, and the general stress of starting two new classes in vastly different and dangerously unstable environments, oh and – I’m pretty sure I’m suffering from noise pollution from the row the couple downstairs has been having for the past two days and I think I’ve developed an allergy to the air conditioning vents in my company car, and maybe the cotton harvest is getting to me, and then there is the drop in temperature, and the irritation I feel towards Gretchen on Project Runway, and according to my wise coworker, I need to eat more beets.
I do have a box of Vicks-laced Kleenex. I wonder what Secret-of-My-Success go-getting mail-room clerk put those two ideas together and snuck it past the boss, was discovered by the CEO, got a giant promotion, and then married Harrison Ford. In the movies it only takes one good smart business idea.