Page 81 of Man Flu

Brielle scurries off in her four-inch-heeled boots and slams her hand down on my desk while making contact with my phone. It’s never hard to figure out where that girl is with the amount of noise she makes. She has it back to me in a matter of seconds, and I’m relieved to see the school hasn’t tried to call. I should just check the damn forecast already.

“Folks,” Alan says from outside his office. “Can I have your attention for a minute.” Everyone in their cubicles turns to face the corner office. “I know most of you are leaving in the morning for the expo, but the snow isn’t expected to stop until about midnight tonight. So, in hopes of everyone getting home safely and having everything in order for the morning, I’d like you all to go home now and finish up whatever remaining work you have remotely. I’ll be accessible all evening through email, so please take extra caution while driving home.” All I heard was, blah blah blah, I don’t want the company to be sued, and work all night so you can be exhausted in the morning when you’re digging out your driveway in preparation for an airport transfer.

Logan returns to Brielle’s cube with my coat and a box of papers. “Let’s go.”

“Did you just do that?”

“Oh, you, and your cute little tight-end, I have a certain finesse with my words. Haven’t you learned that yet?”

“Tight-end?” I repeat. “Really? Don’t you think it’s a little soon to be making jokes, considering I’m still suffering right now?”

“Don’t yell, you might split the seam,” he chuckles, obviously having fun with this situation, at my expense.

“While you’re making jokes, I need to figure out how to drive home, and I can’t sit, so please have some empathy.”

“Empathy?” he laughs. “Should I remind you about my ‘flat tire’? Imagine sitting on that thing for the first two months.”

Fair point. “Come on, I’m here to help you,” Logan continues. “We’ll get you fixed up. Think of it as a butt lift. It’s training your muscles to stick together and be perky.”

“Are you saying I need a butt lift?” My butt isn’t flat, but it doesn’t stand up all perky and crap like Tiana’s does because it blew up like a freaking balloon when I was pregnant, then deflated.

“That wasn’t what I was saying,” Logan corrects my thoughts and adds a smile for good measure. “Where is this wax place?”

“Just down the street,” I tell him.

“Hawaiian Breeze Spa?” he questions.

How does he know … “Yes?”

“Oh no, did you happen to get waxed by Mary?”

“Logan, how do you know so much about Hawaiian Breeze Spa? And Mary, for that matter?”

“Let’s just say … I know her.”