How YOU doin'?

I like to think of myself as somewhat of a hippie.  Maybe that's because I grew up on Vietnam War music from Peter, Paul, and Mary.  Or maybe it's because my family was too poor to buy more than one Cabbage Patch Kid, so we got the less popular Flower Patch Kids.

Don't worry, I had a real Cabbage Patch Kid, she was a baby with only a tiny tuft of yarn-like hair.  Her name was Jessica.  But Flower Patch Kids, I had two.  Oh yes, two.  Opie and Kelly.  They were awesome.  We also had the Flower Patch Kid pets, I think.  In my memory they were just like the "kids" only they had ears and a tail. 

I hope that's a real memory and I didn't just make that up.  Sounds like something someone on drugs would say.  I assure you, that is not the case.  I have never tried drugs, nor am I on any at this moment in time.  Girl Scouts honor.  *raises hand in the air*

Anyway, I'm sort of a hippie.  I like growing things.  My joy is making things and caring for my home.  I'm a free spirit. But I do wear deoderant.

Hippie took a whole new meaning today when I was sitting at my desk and my bra broke.

For some reason "break on through to the other side" started blasted through my brain as panic set in.  See, I work with all men.  How the heck do you say "Excuse me, my bra just broke, I have to leave for a minute." 

Answer:  you don't.  It would be just as awkward as saying "Hey, I'm surfing the crimson wave this week guys.  Anyone have any extra tampons in their desk?"

A quick trip to Walmart, with an even quicker selection of a replacement bra, and I was on my way back to work before anyone even knew I'd left.

Only me.