Since I believe she has a good heart and was genuinely fond of me, I texted her this morning. Told her that I'd been to Lolla on Friday and got so filthy I scrubbed my face. I recalled how she once advised me to go easy on the facial scrubs after we compared beauty regimens, "Remember, it's your face, not a kitchen floor."
|Quick question: Who's this?|
She was working here when I ordered the tickets, was working here when the guy from the mail room delivered them with such pomp and circumstance. She saw the big Beatle poster in my corner of the office.
Plus there's the fact that everyone who meets me learns rather early on that my two abiding passions are (don't make me rank them, please, don't make me rank them) Paul and The Cubs.
So it makes me wonder if she ever heard a word I said over the four months we toiled together in the agency mines.
It washed over me anew that what happened to her was unfortunate but necessary. For I don't think she ever actually heard a thing I said. That doesn't make for a good collaborator or a productive working relationship.