Dodging the bullet

Question: What is worse than yet *another* unsuspecting drive-by at work?

Answer: A secondary source drive-by via email at 3am when you have been staring blankly at a computer screen (with some intermittent typing) for 18 hours and are starting to hallucinate. I rubbed my eyes but the text remained the same: "She did not look as if she was in the condition to be pushing a shopping cart." Innocuous enough, perhaps, but...but...

The person that was being spoken of is an ex-associate at the large bookstore I often speak of. Satan incarnate in the form of a young Martha Stewart. I'm talking Gap on speed -- khakis all day, every day, conservative jewellery, modest yet stylish sandals, and the piece de resistance: the ever-present sweater carefully draped on her shoulders and knotted. When she would sport this look I'd put on my posh "old money" voice and say to my co-worker (and current spy), "Dahling...that look is so Martha's Vineyard circa 1986."

Yes, she could be forgiven for her sincere crimes against fashion. However, you must know that anyone who dresses like this also is in severe need of behaviour modification by way of electroshock therapy or thumb screws. Young Martha's hair was always perfectly curled and coifed, and she had a predisposition to exaggerated facial expressions. Lots of looks of wide-eyed wonderment, mouth agape, and that limp-wristed "Oh I don't belieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeve it" motion of the arm that the dramatic often utilise.

Naturally Young Martha loved children. In fact, she was going to college to be a first grade teacher. My belief was that she pursued this career because anything past that level would be a bit too mentally trying for her. I often despaired for the children that would be taught by this vacuous puffhead. Young Martha supervised the Children's section of not Barnes and Noble and delighted in speaking in apparent child-friendly voices during story time, naturally making full use of wide eyes and mock surprise.

My favourite Young Martha story occurred soon after my second and "real" wedding to The Dude. I have never been the type to fantasise about my own wedding. I had a beautiful dress and was able to get married in a 13th century church. That's all I needed. We had a very small reception with no frills and we left for our honeymoon in Lille within a couple of hours of arriving at the reception venue. I was drunk and don't even know what our family did after we left, nor did I care. Anyway...when I got back to work post-marriage, I was showing my photographs to my co-workers, most of whom were polite enough to "oooo" and "ahhhh" in the right places. Not Young Martha. Young Martha, who was in the early stages of planning her own preppy hell country club wedding said, "Oh Pru, I wish I could not put any effort into my wedding. I've been stressing out majorly when all you've done is show up. I wish I could have the courage to do that." Bitch.

So back to the drive-by in question. Deflated, I emailed my source and asked if he was in fact insinuating that Young Martha has found herself with child. I anxiously awaited his reply and this infertile for once, has not been dealt a swift kick to her polycystic ovaries by the powers that be this day. Young Martha is not pregnant. She's. just. really. fat. As my friend said, "It seems she is following a high carb diet." I really shouldn't be this pleased. The stars have realigned, if only for a moment, and this made me smile. I am the definition of evil.