Okay, so I lied
So remember the post where I said that I get along just fine with everyone?
Turns out I don't.
Turns out I don't play well with others...Well, I don't play well with others in group projects.
Returning to school in my forties was a good thing. It meant I could afford to pay for the good parking spots. It meant the experience of juggling four kids while I had a phone tucked under my ear, baked cookies, and scrubbed the toilet would give me the organizational skills of Oprah.
It did, however, also mean that in group projects, I would end up being that bossy bitch that delegates menial tasks and rolls her eyes at a certain buddy who doesn't swoon at my brilliant idea that we should all wear matching outfits for the presentation.
When I asked him if we could switch presentation dates with another group, he didn't have to be all, "Waah! Waah! But we already switched dates once!" Big baby.
He could have simply said, "You know what Sandra, you awesome gorgeous creature you, we've already changed our presentation date once. Let's just stick with the one we've got."
And I would have been all, "Okay! Great! Thank you for being such a good communicator."
Instead, buddy grunted at me.
He grunted then he ran away from me.
He fucking ran away from me, like he was a little baby that I was chasing around the coffee table so I could change his dirty diaper.
Well, I'm done changing dirty diapers, buddy! Go ahead and keep on running with that load in your pants because I don't like working with you.
Clearly being grunted at triggers deep seeded emotions within me because I haven't stopped stewing over this.
And to make matters worse, he has this soul patch. I hate those things! And his is all bushy. It looks like a big mound of pubic hair right beneath his bottom lip.
I sit in class and daydream about going up to him and giving that pubic bush a harsh yank.
There! How'd you like me now Mr. Big-Baby-Bushy-Pubic-Looking-Soul-Patch-Guy!
The reality though: I won't react negatively. I won't stomp my feet and throw a tantrum, and demand that we wear the matching outfits for the presentation. ‘Cause that's not how I roll.
I might, however, leave a can of shaving cream on his desk with a note that says, "Go on, shave it. Your wife can thank me later."
...I only said I... might!