Lovely Daughter

[one_half]Mrs. Brown[/one_half] [one_half_last]

I  wanted to be Mrs. Brown's, Lovely Daughter.

I cannot believe that girl broke his heart.

What an idiot.


During our hoola-hooping era, my little sisters, Louisa, Ki-Ki, and I used to feed Peter Noone, of the Herman's Hermits, Life Savers, on the back of an album cover.

His lips were parted perfectly, to place one in there.

peter noon I guess you could say that we three, had a thing for Peter Noone. I have no idea why, but one night, I dreamt that Peter and I were riding horseback, through the streets of London. My horse, unlike Jack, the horse that I rode many years later, understood my driving skills. And he trotted alongside Peter, who was giving me a tour of his neighborhood. Okay, I'll be honest. I do not remember what he was even talking about.  But, it wouldn't have mattered anyway, as long as he said whatever he said, with his British accent. Like the way he sang, "Walkin' about, even in a crowd, well, you'll pick her out, makes a bloke feel, so proud." What a blow it was to face the truth in the morning, when our alarm went off and we had to get up and I had to put on my Girl Scout uniform, because it was a Thursday. It was just a dream. The other day, I arrived to work at 7:00 A.M. and the main frame was down. The the first email from our IT department promised that it would be up and running by 9:00 A.M. Ugh. Oh well, I could find plenty of things to do without it. I trashed a gazillion emails. Giant dust bunnies and their children were cleared out from behind my monitor, with absolutely no regard for the fact that they were squatters and probably legally own my entire desk.  I sanitized my phone. I filed some folders.  I spent some time over by the copy machines, where the spread of Halloween Treats were laid out. The spread that I was NOT going to visit. Then I decided it was time to file all those folders full of that miscellaneous, weird shit, that I never really know what to do with. But, then I decided that I really didn't know what to do with them. Bingo. Another email arrived from IT. The mainframe will be up and running by 6:00 PM. Sorry for any inconvenience.

Sorry for any inconvenience!!!

There was a collective groan, heard through out the office. These were desperate times. They were so desperate, that I actually clicked on my, performance review button. That is never good. "I suppose I could knock off one of those online classes," I thought. "It might be nice not taking all three on December twenty-fourth, when Santa and his reindeer are in flight and this place is closing down." I stared at the form on my screen. What kind of crap did I say that I would do this time? Do you remember when work was about work? It's not anymore. Now, it's all about career opportunities and advancement. If I would have planned a career or advancement, earlier on, perhaps I wouldn't be a pricing specialist, today. Now, I just want to advance myself right on out of this whole space program. But, I am stuck here in orbit, for at least a few more trips around the moon. Why can't I just tell them that I have improved? Better yet, why can't they just accept me, the way I am? Remember that book? I'm Okay. You're Okay? They don't. So, let me see. Interpersonal Communication. Duration: Forty-five minutes. "That one doesn't sound too bad." Well, guess what? That is not what I'd signed up for. I'd signed up for Interpersonal Commuicacion. Do you see the difference? I didn't either. It turns out, Interpersonal Commuicacion, is available in either Spanish or else in Spanish. That one is going to be a tough one. Let's see, what else did I pick? Oh, good. This one looks like it might be in English. Communicating Assertively. Everyone needs to be able to communicate assertively. My course choices every year, are like male pattern baldness. Very predictable. You see, with communication classes, you can put your head phones on, zone out at your desk and doodle. You will still pass the test. If you are in a meeting and you are not clear about the direction you were just given, what should you do? A) Ask for clarification. B) Nod your head in agreement to keep things moving along. C) Yell out in anger, "This shit is too complicated!" Well, guess what? Communicating Assertively, is not in the course catalogue! Jesus. How did I choose a nonexistent class? This one is going to be tough to pass, too. "This shit is too complicated!" There is one more left on my list. Oh God. No. Tell me this is not true. Please, do Not be an Excel class. Ensuring Excel 2010 Data and Formulas are Right Duration: 1.00. Shoot me. I log in. And then I hear, "Tell er that I'm well and feeling fine." Hark. Was that Peter Noone? The guy had a British accent. "Don't let on, don't say she's broke my heart. I'd go down on my knees but it's no good to pine." Oh yeah. It was him all right. AWESOME. If only you could hear how he says excel and errors and formulers. So cute. I sit back and I settle in for an afternoon, as Mrs. Brown's, lovely daughter. I watch the screen and I listen to the words roll off his lips that are parted, just enough to take in a lifesaver. Boy, he talks a lot faster than I remember. There are arrows going every which way on the screen in front of my glazed eyes. [one_half]big ben[/one_half]  

[one_half_last] He rambles on and on and on, as we gallop past the London Clock Tower.[/one_half_last]

I click on the next button at the bottom of the screen, every time he is quiet. He explains to me how I can keep people out of my cells. How I can make them format cells using my conditions. The very conditions that he taught me how to set up. And I can give them an informational slap on the wrist, or a warning smack on the back or a plain old fucking, STOP and get out of my cell, kick in the ass, if they do not comply with my rules of condition. It was all so very empowering. I wish I would have had a pop star from Brittan, teaching math in high school. He is still talking. He's so cute. Yep, he is still rattling on. Still. His accent is very nice, really, but I do wish he would just show me where he used to play stickball or something.  Maybe we could stop for a minute, tie our horses to a hitch and have some trumpets and tea. But, no. He seems to really be stuck on this one, subject. Every once in a while, I am asked to take a quiz, to prove that I, me, Millie Now, know what he just said. I am paralyzed. No clue what to do. What's this? It is a, show me the answer, button at the bottom of the screen. I click on it and then he guides me through each task. That's right.  He does the whole thing. I think he likes me. I am absolutely loving this class. It is, how can I put it?  Lovely. And then, I reach the end of it. Awwwwwwwwwww. But, what? What's this now? Uh-oh. There's a final test? You mean, you expect me to do all of this stuff by myself? Conditional formatting and merging spreadsheets? peter noon and horse

  Get over yourself Peter Noone.


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