My Thoughts Are . . .

. . . that if I can't remember whether or not I already wore the shirt this week, nobody in the office will, either.

Norma has a giant sandwich bag full of shrimp at her desk. Five pounds of unrefrigerated - still thawing so the bag is half water - jumbo shrimp. She's sharing with Modesta. Every so often Mo reaches over the partition and reaches into the bag. The rings on her fingers and her power suit clad sleeve fish around the bag retrieving three or four shrimp at a time. The tails sit in a pile next to her keyboard, like some sick elephant graveyard.

I will not be able to enjoy my shrimp and white wine luncheons for at least the next three hours.