I know this one!
Battle of the Network Printers by Pam and Yvonne.
Ok. Hang on. I'll be back.
He smiled appreciatively and playfully. "Well, I wanted to talk
to you about this weekend."
"This weekend?"
"Yeah," he said.
I noticed he seemed a little nervous.
"What's this weekend?" I asked. I honestly had no idea.
"Well, for one thing, it's our two month anniversary..."
There, right there! I thought, "Shoot me please, now!"
I luckily received a phone call right then and he had to go back
to his desk.
"He did NOT say two month anniversary, did he?" I thought
frantically.
If you, Diary (since I apparently am going crazy and am talking
to you like you are a person... I do need more friends), think I
am freaking out or clearly have commitment issues, let me explain
a little something about two month marks and my life.
When I knew Paul (college Paul that Linda (my then-so-called best
friend) stole) for two months, I worked up the courage to ask him
out. He said no and proceeded to do jumping jacks on my heart,
while doing, um, other stuff with Linda.
When I knew Claude for two months we... well... we slept
together. And then he left me. And he stole my story. Don't
think that needs more elaboration.
When I dated Lex for two months exclusively... And this was
pretty much two months to the DAY... he proposed. And I
accepted. And that one went down in the books as a new-age Greek
tragedy. Without the gouging out of the eyes, of course...
although had that incident actually turned out differently...
Hm.
And here's a clinker... When I was two months old, I got a cold
that apparently almost killed me. But I recovered.
Obviously...
About a year ago (post-wedding fiasco), when I was bored at work
one day (on a Wednesday, actually) I made this little connection
that I have so eloquently laid out here. I call it the Two-Month
Syndrome. Clearly bad things, BIG things sometimes, happen to me
at the two-month mark. And Clark, bringing up the weekend on a
Wednesday (usually we just play the weekends by ear) means that
he most likely wants to do something special or big. Something
we have to plan for.
This could only mean one thing: disaster.
This one has a big, fat clue in it, too.
CC
