A Guest Writer

I seem to have inspired one of my co-workers in her pursuit of literary expression. I generously offered her (at the quite reasonable rate of $1 per word) space on my blog for her to amaze you with her wit and wisdom. So, without further ado, I proudly present Carly Latiolais. (I’m going shoppin’!)

Ode to the Loathsome Fever Blister Part ½

After reading Ms. Laurie Anderson’s most entertaining blog, I felt inspired...no... compelled, to try my hand at writing an equally entertaining anecdote. While I have not lived quite as long as Laurie, I’m only 24, nor have I had as many experiences, the following is one of the few humorous stories I do have. (Note from Laurie: She's got plenty of stories.)

Sorry, but I had to take a dig at the age thing. Couldn’t pass it up. But I digress...

Let me take a moment to introduce myself. My name is Carly and I’m a paralegal at the same law firm where Laurie works. While this may be my writing debut, this is not the first time I’ve had the pleasure of showing up in Laurie’s blog. You may know me better as "Carly The Afflicted." That’s right, you guessed it, I was the unfortunate subject of "Ode to the Loathsome Fever Blister" and for those of you who care, my lip is back to normal. Thank you for your cards and letters. They meant so much.

The fever blister that was so eloquently referred to in the "Ode" was not the first I’ve been blessed with. It wasn’t even the first time I’ve had one at work, which brings me to the subject of this entry: my first fever blister at the office. I’ve named this entry "Ode to the Loathsome Fever Blister Part ½". Not original, but imitation is the best form of flattery. And here we go...

It was Memorial weekend and because I was out in the sun and stressed out, for whatever reason, the inevitable happened. I arrived to work on Tuesday with a blister the size of a bowling ball on my lower lip. Now, anyone who’s ever had a blister knows that these things, even with the aid of medicine, take a while to heal, so we’ll skip the rest of this week and move right along to the following Monday when my blister had now taken the form of a large scab. Stick with me, the story will get better.

In my part of the office, my cubicle sits right outside of the offices of a partner and an associate. As it is with most law firms, I reserve my conversations with the partner to be limited to business matters only. I don’t know why, it’s just the way it is. The associate, Fritz (not his real name) and I, however, are very close and have various conversations not related to work issues several times a day.

Fritz and I are a sarcastic people and are normally the butts of each others jokes. It’s just the nature of our relationship. Anyway, this particular Monday, Fritz was standing outside his doorway talking to me when another attorney, Leroy (also not his real name – Laurie, why do we do this?) walked up and joined our conversation. Halfway through his sentence, Leroy glanced at me and started making a gesture at his lip. I looked back at him with a puzzled expression. This went on for a few seconds until he finally shouted, "Carly, you have chocolate on your lip!" Fritz immediately doubled over into fits of laughter, because Leroy had mistaken my blister for chocolate.

After Fritz had finished yukking it up, he made his way throughout the office suggesting to all of my co-workers that they come up to me and motion that I had something on my lip. Funny, huh? (Sarcasm.) So, from Tuesday until Thursday, various followers...er...co-workers obeyed Fritz’s suggestion and I was inundated with played-out references to my lip. It got real old, real quick.

So, imagine how relieved I was to find that Friday morning I awoke to find my scab was gone and my lip was back to normal. (Note from Laurie: I wonder where the scab went? Sorry for the interruption, back to the story.) When I arrived at work, I couldn’t help but notice how disappointed Fritz was that his only reason for living had disappeared and he would now have to focus on whatever he called a life.

Well, later that day, around noon, I had finished my lunch and went to get my desert out of the fridge. What desert did I bring that day? Why, chocolate pudding, of course! Can you tell where this is going?

I tried to open my pudding, but couldn’t seem to get the plastic lid to tear off. After one last heroic effort, the lid suddenly flew off and little splashes of pudding went everywhere. Recalling the week’s events, I knew I had to get to the bathroom before Fritz saw me. When I reached the mirror in the bathroom, it was just as I had expected. My face was covered with pudding spots. I immediately began scouring my face. I was in there for at least ten minutes scrubbing each part of my face. Satisfied with my cleaning job, I went back to my desk right before Fritz walked into his office.

Shortly thereafter, Fritz and I started up another one of our random conversations about nothing. To avoid shouting at each other, he walked out of his office and stood near my desk. It was at that time, he said something that struck me as being quite funny and I leaned back in my chair and started laughing. And then he said something that to this day still rings in my ears... "Carly, what’s that on your neck?!" My laughter halted abruptly and all I could do was stare at him. Timidly, I reached for where Fritz was pointing and discovered what would become the bane of my existence, a glob of dried chocolate adhered to my neck. In my haste to expunge my face of all traces of pudding, I had forgotten to check the rest of my body, including my neck.

Well it’s been a little over 5 months since the "event" and I’ve slowly, but surely, gotten my dignity back and this is where my story ends. If after reading my tale of woe, you find nothing of worth, at least remember this: No matter where you are or what you’re doing, always, always check your neck.

You’ve been a wonderful audience! Thank you.