Baby Shower Woes
I’m trying very hard to not sweat the small stuff in this new year. My old boss used to have a post-it note stuck to his computer that said just that and I decided to do the same.
I’m trying real hard, but the universe is really testing me these days. Just today, I walked into work, booted up my computer, and immediately checked my email. The first thing I see is an email from one co-worker to another volunteering my services to plan a baby shower for my boss.
First of all, no. I don’t do babies. I don’t do baby showers. More specifically, I don’t plan baby showers for people I barely know, ESPECIALLY when I already attended a baby shower for said unborn fetus back in November and spent a small fortune on a fucking light-up whale. Second of all, and more importantly, don’t you dare volunteer my services for anything, let alone planning a shower. Period. Amen.
Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do about it. I can’t say no. Here is how that conversation would go:
Me: I don’t want to plan the baby shower. I don’t do baby showers.
Everyone else: You are the spawn of Satan who hates babies and wishes all unicorns would die.
I was screwed. I had to help. Immediately upon reading the email, I performed the next logical step and complained about it on Facebook. I then stewed in my angry juices for a few minutes about how right I was. HOW DARE THAT WOMAN VOLUNTEER ME? She isn’t the boss of me. I am right. I am always right.
Said woman came over a few minutes later to help me plan. How nice of her, right? The coldness emanating from my bones must have been fairly obvious as she immediately asked if I was okay.
Did I mention how much I hate being asked that?
I did my best impression of a snarly teenager. “I’m fine,” I shot back at her. I mumbled something about lack of sleep so she would move on and she seemed to get the point.
By the end of the meeting, I was considering jumping out of my three story window when I suddenly looked down at my list of things to do and stared. There was only one thing.
Call Costco for deli platters.
That was it. I had just been a mega bitch to a poor old woman who had only asked me to call and ask about food for a baby shower for my own fucking boss. What the hell was wrong with me?
I told myself it was okay. I was exhausted and cranky. Everyone has their bad days.
Then I saw that damn post-it note on my computer screen.
Shit. While I still believe that being volunteered for anything without your knowledge is a load of bullshit, I could have not been an über bitch about it. I could have smiled politely through all of it and explained that I couldn’t give any more money for a gift since I’d already bought one earlier. I could have done my duties and been done with all of it in just a couple of weeks. It could have not been a big deal. But I made it one. Because I sweat the small stuff.
I think I need more post-its.
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