Have I ever told you Sean calls me Man? I may have mentioned it once or twice, as our neighbor, you know, the one I’ve likened to a creature from the Dark Crystal, once came over and expounded on all the reasons why Sean shouldn’t call me “Man.”
“Fuh, stawtuhs, yure a woman, yure not a man.”
I nodded my head, because no matter the depths to which my self-esteem have plummeted, I’ve always known I was a woman.
“Fuh, segunds, yure name is A-man-duh, there are other shortcuts or nicknames, whutevah ya call ’em. Like “N’duh,” he could call you, “N’duh.”
I nodded some more, because, yes, he could certainly call me, “N’duh.”
“I just doe-n like it. It’s like, it’s like it’s wrong, yuh too pretty fer dat.” And with that she sort of shuffled off.
Anyway, he calls me Man, my mom and sister did before him, I like it. It works, except when we are out with a friend of his and he says, “Man,” in which case I’m like, “Me, man? Baby, man? Or him man, dude man?” He usually rolls his eyes at my rather weak attempt to emulate a Who’s on First comedic genius.
As I was saying, Man at Work – I realized that my last two posts have been rather dark, which, quite honestly, is natural as my work can be a dark place for me sometimes. What can I do? How do I turn this around, I asked myself. And then it hit me, Men at Work. Who doesn’t smile at their signature song? It’s right up there with Blondie and The Tide is High.
In the spirit of Flutter, a magnificent wordsmith who on occasion graces us with music she thinks we should hear, I give you a bit of Aussie and a bit of sass to slide you into the second half of this, the last workday of this week.