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Honesty is not prized in the workplace
On the way back from the eye doctor's and applying for jobs I don't want (kind of fun: I could actually be honest on that inevitable survey thing they give you to gauge your suckupitude, you know, "You see a customer looking confused and upset, do you A. ask him what's wrong, B. strike up a conversation, or C. go back to what you were doing and ignore him.") a song I had not expected my sister to enjoy came on one of her CDs.
She did in fact enjoy it, and said, "I want to dance to this song at my wedding."
My sister wants to dance to Ben Folds' "The Luckiest" at her wedding.
The song is horribly horribly depressing for being so sweet, but at least she has good taste.
I started tearing up, that damn song always gets me, and my eyeballs started leaking the flourescent yellow-orange stuff they put in your eyes when you go to get your vision tested. I was covered in flourescence by the time we got home and snickering so hard I just made it worse.
Ah well.
She did in fact enjoy it, and said, "I want to dance to this song at my wedding."
My sister wants to dance to Ben Folds' "The Luckiest" at her wedding.
The song is horribly horribly depressing for being so sweet, but at least she has good taste.
I started tearing up, that damn song always gets me, and my eyeballs started leaking the flourescent yellow-orange stuff they put in your eyes when you go to get your vision tested. I was covered in flourescence by the time we got home and snickering so hard I just made it worse.
Ah well.