Neglected.

First lets start by saying Hello again to all of my fantastic readers. It's been awhile, I know, and I'm sorry!

This term was absolute Hell! Apparently in Nursing school "normal" grades don't apply. Where in regular college classes, a 60% or higher is passing, we have to maintain a 77% or higher to pass. We can ace every assignment and have a 97% total, but if we don't have a combined total of 80% on our midterm and final we get the boot. And they aren't joking. Of the 65 students that started, we already lost 10 in first term.

Needless to say, Its ridiculous how little time I have to do anything other then studying. On the plus side though, I'm feeling rather smart;)

As expected, I started the term taking a small break from work, and then went back to only work Saturdays and Sundays. Well that didn't quite work out because the work load was piling up, and I was seeing my husband less then 6 hours a week. So I talked to my boss and asked for the rest of the term off. She agreed and promised to have my spot for me when I came back over holidays.

So when the term rolled to a close, and I prepared to put on my apron and serve up some steak, I was informed that things at the restaurant were "too slow" and they had to give priority to the "committed employees."

I wasn't bummed.

At first I was excited for all the time off. I was able to clean the house for the first time in literally three months. I was able to cook real meals with out feeling guilty for "wasting good study time," I was able to go out with the ladies and get hammered without fear I would sleep through my 6am clinicals. I hand sewed my nieces and nephews cute monster dolls for Christmas, I got my hair done, I slept in...And now I'm just plain bored! I have almost forgotten how miserable the term was, and I'm a bit excited to start it all over again.

I know I promised some good stories from the term, and trust me you will get them. But not today my lovelies!

Weekly Confessions

This week you bared your soul. You shared the gruesome details, you admitted to crimes against society, you laughed an evil laugh, and I loved every second of it.

Secret Confession #1- One time I had to deliver a fruit tray to the main office of the county department of health. The delivery was scheduled for very early in the morning, and was located a good 30 minutes away from my house. Since my work was another 30 miles away in the opposite direction, I decided to bring the fruit tray home with me to save an hour at the crack of dawn. That morning as I sleepily loaded the fruit tray into my car, I accidentally dropped it all over the pavement... There was no time to get the ingredients, much less prepare them, so I did the only thing I could think of: I picked up all of the fruit, rinsed it off, and reassembled the platter. Yup, I served pavement fruit to the health department.

Brilliant. The shear irony of the situation would have been to much to handle. Now, lets hear from the passive aggressive antics of a pizza maker, and a cocktail waitress...

Secret Confession #2- I used to work at a place that served take-away pizza. Whenever someone was especially rude, I would slice their pizza just hard enough so it looked like it had been sliced, but not hard enough to cut through the crust. Devastating? Probably not. But the thought of those jerks making a mess of themselves trying to eat a slice on the way home always made me smile.

Secret Confessions #3-When I was a cocktail waitress at a casino, I used to do something called "arm pit straws". Whenever a person was particularly nasty and called me a bitch, I would put their straw under my arm pit while I was delivering other drinks. I would then put the straw in their drink (arm pit side up) and deliver it with a smile.

Ahh, and just the thought of you silently sabotaging those asswads makes me smile too. Thank you all for your confessions this week. Keep them coming, as I am thoroughly enjoying reading through them. It sure is nice to know you are all just as screwed up and vindictive as I am.

Confessions of a Cokehead

When hubby and I first met during the awkward prepubescent years, we were like two zit faced tweens in a Proactive commercial. We smiled at each other with metal faces as I knelt down to give him a kiss. See, I had a growth spurt before most kids my age, and was much like an amazonian walking several feet above my peers. Though it was a successful year for me and sports, it was not uncommon for me to hear shouts of "She-Man" and "Giraffe" echoing down the halls.

Like most things that happen during the ages of 11-14, we pray they stay buried and locked within the walls of our junior high, our relationship was certainly one of them. Pictures were burned to hide the evidence that I had, in fact, dated a midget.

Six years later when hubby and I ran into each other again, I was happy to see that he was no longer 4'8, but was still as thin as ever. We started dating immediately and four years later we were married. Though he was still shorter then me, this time it was only by mere inches, rather then entire feet as was the case in junior high. We were finally on level playing field. Until slowly, I began gaining the dreaded marriage weight I had heard horror stories about. While some will be quick to blame the birth control, I will admit the fault was nobodies but my own... and whole milk, and ice cream. Four months after the wedding, I was shocked when my favorite skinny jeans didn't fit anymore.

In effort to save money, the grocery shopping was down to mainly essentials, and since hubby needs high calorie food and drink to keep up his weight (lucky bastard) I found myself buying whole milk, pasta, and Pepsi. (yes, Pepsi is an essential).
Once I identified the culprit I immediately changed my shopping habits. I began buying skim milk, non-fat ice cream and Diet Pepsi for myself, while still buying high calorie foods for him. Within months I had lost most of the weight, and rejoiced as I slipped effortlessly into my favorite jeans.
One night last week I called hub, and asked if he could pick me up a Diet on his way home. When he arrived home with Coke, I threw a fit. After a four month love affair with Diet Pepsi, I felt that drinking any thing else was an abomination. Three 2-liters in two hours later, I was addicted. I began bathing in it, washing my dishes with it, and feeding it to my kitten. I filled my car, my cereal and my aquarium with it. I washed my clothes, filled the hot tub, and watered my plants with it. I dreamt of it at night, and made love to it during the day. Thank you husband for accidentally bringing it home that fateful night that changed my life. I will now fight anyone who says that Diet Pepsi is better.


And on a completely unrelated note, this is the funniest blog ever!! Go check it out, and leave some love. Adnoxious.blogspot.com

Confessions Collection

Since 90% of my year is spent with my nose deep in the books, when each school term is finished I usually have a few weeks to unwind, stay in my pj's all day, veg out and watch the episodes of all my favorite shows that I've missed. So to commemorate my finishing Gossip Girl Season 2 in less than 4 days, I have decided to feature a weekly Confession, written by you of course.

Are you a waitress, a pizza delivery driver, a barista, a grocery store checker, a nurse, or a retail salesman? If you work in any from of customer service and have ever fucked with a customer unbeknownst to them, please share it here. Tell me your deepest darkest secrets. Tell me about the time you spit on a pizza, or the time you ate food from a patrons plate after removing it from their table. Tell me about pouring Visine into someones drink, or giving that hot guy a discount on sharp Cheddar at the store. I want the gruesome details! And don't worry, It'll remain anonymous unless you request otherwise.

To begin this new feature on Confessions of a Part Time Waitress, I will start by sharing a secret of my own.
When I was 16 I worked at Little Caesars Pizza. On many occasions during my delivery's I would sneakily eat a bread stick out of the bag. Since each bag came with 8, I figured nobody would ever find out. To this day I don't know if anyone did.

Now its your turn. Just type it into the box on your left!

Suspended

Last Monday during a closing shift an old friend of mine sent me a text saying that she was in town and wanted to see me. I told her I was working, but that she could come in and hang out for a bit, so she came, and brought with her another very close friend that I hadn't seen in a few months.

I casually asked them if they wanted something to drink, while flashing them the "of course I won't charge you" smile. One had a Pepsi while the other had a raspberry lemonade. As many of you are probably aware, to have food made, or a bar drink poured you must ring it into the computer because the kitchen/bartender cannot make anything unless they have a ticket. There are only a few things that servers have complete control over, and fountain drinks are one of them. It is because of this, that I didn't charge my friends for their drinks.

I took their order, and rang in their food. I sat and chatted for a bit while they ate, then I collected their money for the bill, and then hugged them as they left.

About ten minutes later, I made a stupid mistake on a new order and needed a manager to void off an item. We laughed about how I was a total bonehead, always making silly mistakes when she looked at me and said...

"You know, you're only a real bone-head if you forgot to charge your friends for their drinks."

Oh shit...Panic mode kicked in, so what did I do?

I looked my manager straight in the eye, and lied. Completely forgetting that she had the ability to open up a closed tickets to see exactly what was rung in.

I told her I hadn't charged them because I paid for them myself, So she smiled sweetly and dropped the subject.

I spent the next 3 days stressed out that she knew the truth, or that I would get fired.

Thursday evening I headed into work for another closing shift. When I arrived I noticed my name was not on the seating chart, so I fearfully approached the managers office. When I got there I was asked to sit so that we could have a "chat."

Manager C informed me that she had checked my nightly report and found no sign of my friends drinks. She reminded me that stealing was grounds for termination, and she asked me once again if I had meant to charge my friends.

I had two choices. I could either admit that I purposely gave my friends free drinks, then lied about it, and face certain termination, Or lie again and say that I intended to charge them, but must have forgotten, look like a total airhead, but still have a job.

Can you guess what I did?

I lied again. I said that I must have spaced it, but that I meant to ring it in. I apologized for my ignorance, and whipped out a $10 to pay for the drinks.

I was then scolded for making stupid mistakes, and suspended for 2 days.

So, I am not proud of the situation. If anything, I am embarrassed. I feel and looked like a total idiot, and It is all my fault. I deserve to be fired. But now that all is said and done, and we are moving forward, I have to ask my readers and fellow servers a question. Feel free to leave comments anonymously if you prefer nobody find out, but please, I would like as much feedback as possible.

Have you ever hooked up a friend? Have you ever slipped them a freebie while you were working, just because it was easy, and you wouldn't get away with it? Was giving them a free drink OK, but only crossing the line because I lied about it?

Please be honest... I was.

Gall Bladder Removal.

One Saturday Elvira was keeled over in the bar holding her stomach in excruciating pain. She was sent home early because eventually she couldn't even hold herself upright. She called in sick the next three shifts. Nobody knew what the hell was going on, so on her fourth missed shift Manager C told her she needed a doctors note. Upon visiting the doctor she learned she had cholesterol gallstones, and would need a Cholecystectomy (gallbladder removal).

Prior to the surgery, she had some lab work done, as is a common practice. She had a tox screen, a UA, and a CBC. After reviewing the results, the doctor warned Elvira about the dangers of her particular habits. To which she replied "It's my life, I will do what I want."
Classy Elvira, classy.

Post surgery Elvira was in a recovery consultation. She was once again urged to discontinue all drug, tobacco, and alcohol usage, as these could dramatically effect her rehabilitation. She once again irresponsibly declined.

As their meeting was drawing to a close, he quickly wrote her a prescription for 1000mg Ibuprofen. She immediately announced that she wanted something stronger, to which he replied that she would not be in much pain, and that anything stronger then the ibuprofen could possibly do more damage to her digestive system.

Frantically she tried again, demanding that she absolutely HAD to have something stronger for the pain. Leaning back in his chair, he removed his glasses, and said...


"You're clearly an alcoholic, you reek of stale pot, and your uncontrollable jitters and grumpiness would suggest that the last two days without a cigarette have been anything but delightful. I will NOT be giving you anything stronger. You really think its wise to get addicted to another substance?"

Kudos on your bed-side manners Dr. House, I'm sure you wont be to surprised to find out she's working on a case to sue your honest ass. I know I wasn't.

A Bucket of Lard, and a Sneaky Bastard

Growing up, my oldest sister had a serious eating disorder. The knowledge of this made me feel like a pregnant hippopotamus because she was always so much thinner then I was, and nothing boosted my self esteem more then a petite, beautiful blond standing 5'9, with a perfect rack telling me she was utterly repulsive.
One Christmas she was home from college, and over a few to many margaritas she began confessing to me terrible things she had done to her friends, just to make her feel better about herself. She told me about how she would dump out her roommate's diet soda, and refill it with regular soda. She would crack the seal of her skinny friend's Splenda, replace it with regular sugar, and glue the edges back together. She would offer to cook, and use pure lard. She even made "health-shake" for her model friends using whole sticks of butter.
At the time, I had a few laughs about it. I found myself justifying her actions, I even thought of all the ways her little scheme could have benefited me in the past. Just like LiLo with the energy bars in Mean Girls, I though about all the hot girls whose bodies I could have have watched bloat up with Lard and butter, as I laughed and kept on feeding them. How their misery, and self-hatred would somehow make me feel better and help with my own validation. And then I sobered up.

I haven't thought much about my sister's shenanigans since then, I have even gained an appreciation, and have learned to be happy with myself the way that I am.

But then the other day I was at Starbucks. My Barista was a heavy set teenage boy, who stood cowering and meek, almost as if he was uncomfortable in his own skin. When I asked for a small sugar-free nonfat iced mocha, he rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath,

"Nonfat, sure...make fun of me...just like everyone else.."


I chose not to respond. There was nothing I could have done or said that would have made feel any better about himself, nor was my nonfat drink in anyway a representation of what I thought, or felt about him. So I remained silent, but I watched him closely as he made my drink. I watched as he pumped 5 squirts of REGULAR Mocha syrup into my drink, and as he
sneakily added a squirt and a half of Classic Syrup (liquid sugar).

Barista: "Nonfat Mocha..."

GH: "Thanks..."
Taking one sip so he could see me, I scrunched my face and said,
"Are you sure this is sugar free?"

Barista: "Yes, It is..."

GH: "Uh, OK. Thanks."

Upon leaving the building I dropped the drink into the nearest trash can. Luckily I had payed with a gift card that much to my surprise still had $20 dollars remaining.

I was really annoyed by the whole ordeal, yet having to dump the drink was the least of my concerns. I was pissed that he was dishonest, that he would purposely sabotage a stranger who unintentionally offended him. I understand low self-esteem. I struggled with it all through junior high and high school. But does he honestly think that just because he is miserable, everyone else should be too? That since he is fat and unhappy, everyone else should join him in self-loathing.

We make our own happiness. We may not like our weight, our hair, or our clothes, but we shouldn't treat everyone else like shit because we are unsatisfied. We should change our attitudes, and treat people with love and respect, only then will we learn to love the person trapped underneath the extra weight, a bad hair-cut, or shabby clothes.

Kill Whitey!

After having nearly two weeks off the only thing that sounded worse to me than working, was to die slowly by having red-hot iron rods inserted into my anus. But such is life.

I dug my still dirty work shirt out of the laundry and forced myself to put it on, while nearly gagging at the stale grease stench, I made a mental note to buy a new work shirt.

I was pretty bored the majority of the evening, and tried to keep myself busy while going through the motions and spouting off random bits of information like a robot on auto-pilot. And then I received my first big-top of the evening. An elderly man asked to pick up the tab, so I kept my eye on him and made sure to give him a little extra attention. When his Medium Rare Rib-eye came out Rare I wasted no time bringing it back to the kitchen for a quick fix.

Elderly man: "Don't overcook it...just throw it on the grill for a minute"

GH: "Absolutely sir."

Man: "I'm serious...if you bring it back Medium I'm walking out."

GH: "I'll watch the clock myself sir, you have nothing to worry about."

Two minutes, and a perfect Medium Rare later, I returned to the table and watched as the elderly man morphed into a fit of unnecessary rage.

Man: "God Damn It!! I said Medium Rare, not Medium...I told you...I knew they would overcook it!!! Who is back there cooking? It's some stupid white guy? Get the Mexicans...they know how to cook it right... * Mumbles* Fucking whiteys....always fucking up my steak."

GH: "Sir, this is a family restaurant, please lower your voice. I can get a manager if you would like."

Man: "Get me the stupid white cook. He needs cooking lessons."

After ten more minutes of degrading ramblings the man was finally asked to leave. I found it humorous that before he left he asked for a to-go box for his steak.

I'm sure I'll get shit for saying this, but I couldn't shake the feeling of racial stereotyping. If the man had screamed that a "fucking Mexican ruined his steak" he would have been publicly crucified. Why is it such a crime against society to so much as mumble a racial slur against an African American, an Asian, or an Indian, but have free range at Whitey? It just doesn't make sense to me.

Classic Cars and Inbreds

Community tradition is a big deal in my little town in the middle of nowhere. It's a time when all the under-educated mill workers change out of their Carharts and shake the sawdust from their hair, when the rednecks and backwood inbreds make their way off the set of Deliverance and rejoin society for a bit of good old fashion entertainment.

Since before I was born a Classic Car Show would take place every year in the middle of July. I grew up watching the old cars cruise downtown, while running out into the street to pick up candy the riders would throw out the windows. This was before the days of razor blades in laffy taffy, hypodermic needles filled with AIDS in caramel apples, and cyanide-laced packages of pixy stix.

Last weekend was the Annual Classic Car Show and the entire 24 thousand members of my pathetic community packed up their blankets, folding chairs, and ice-chests full of piss beer, and claimed their spots on the sidewalk to watch the festivities.

The entire 5 block section of downtown is blocked off during The Cruise to provide ample room for overpriced restored classics to show off their new chrome grills, neon under lights, NOS injections, and spinners. Seems to me they have completely missed the point of a classic, as you would have never seen those shenanigans in the 50's.

I happen to live in the downtown area, and was slightly concerned I wouldn't be allowed to drive to work during The Cruise due to road closure, but was assured by an officer on duty near my house that they would allow me through.

15 minutes before my shift I hopped in our old truck and set off for work. Now, I have been warned several times, by several different people that there is something seriously wrong with our truck, but have never had the time, or the money to do anything about it. So we do our best to keep her running, but know its only a matter of time before she dies.

I proceeded with caution as I drove through the Cruise. I tried my best to keep a low profile as I stuck out like a sore thumb between a 53' Oldsmobile Rocket and a 57' Chevrolet Bel Air.

And then it happened. The spark plugs flipped me the bird as they laid down for a nap, the transmission went on vacation with the starter, and the alternator was strung out on smack.

So there I sat, in the middle of the road. Broke down, in front of my entire community, the local news crew, a SWAT team circling ahead in a government chopper, and Jesus descending from the heavens. And there I sat for what seemed like days, with horns honking all around me, and hicks throwing empty beer cans, while an officer gently suggested that I get the fuck out of the road.

I turned the key....And nothing.

"You're ruining the show!!"

I turned the key again....nothing.

"Your truck sucks!!!"

I turned the key, said a silent prayer.....and she finally started.

"Your mother was a whore!!"

Ok, I'll admit that I was ruining the show, and my truck really does suck, but the last comment was completely unnecessary, so as I hit the gas as hard as I could, I leaned out the window and yelled...

"Yah, well your mother is your sister, you stupid inbred bastard..."




...I love this town

But I'm a Celebrity, I Swear!!

Several months ago, when I was still fairly new to the Steakhouse I had a run in with some very memorable guests. The night had been a crazy one, but when things started to slow down a bit, three servers and the hostess ran outside for a quick cigarette. Being the only one who doesn't smoke I inherited every table, and the whole lobby to keep an eye on.

I was busy running around when I heard the front door bang loudly against the wall, as if it was violently thrown open. Startled, I turned around and saw a large group of men walking in. They were heavily tattooed, fully clad in leather and studded belts, had full beards, and they wore sunglasses, even though it was dark and we were indoors. I assumed they were members of Hells Angels, and were just passing through our tiny town in the middle of nowhere. I greeted them with a smile, and asked if they had a reservation as we were still fairly busy and there were quite a few of them.
Biker #1 leaned in uncomfortably close and snapped "What?! We don't need a reservation. Don't you know who we are"
Unfortunately I had no idea who they were, and without missing a beat I made sure to tell him such.
"Fine!! We need a table for 15, and make it private. We don't want to be bothered." Growled Biker #1.
After taking there order, curiosity got the best of me.

GH: "Ok, so who are you guys anyways?! Are you bikers?"

Biker #1: "We aren't no piece of shit bikers! We're a band"

GH: "A band, huh?"

Biker #2: "Uhhh..Ya, a Band... and we're kind of a big deal"
(Thanks Ron Burgundy)

GH: "Uhh, ya... sure you are"
*laughs and walks away

Back in the kitchen I told everyone what had happened, and one by one they went to take a look, all returning with blank, confused looks. Apparently nobody knew who they were.
An hour and 10 pitchers of beer later, the restaurant was bombarded by high school girls. Complete with squealing, screaming, picture taking, and autograph signing, our doubts about "The band" were laid to rest, though we still had no idea who the hell they were.

When I dropped their check, they continued to insist they were a famous band. At that point, it wasn't that I didn't believe them, rather that I just didn't give a shit. These guys strut into the steakhouse, chests over-inflated with pride, and expect me to hand feed them grapes while fanning them off with palm branches because they're some super popular band, well they can have a heaping portion of Fuck off, because I don't care.
Upon leaving, Biker #1 walks up to me, and while seriously invading my personal space, he grunts "Go home and Google us. You're going to feel really stupid when you see just how popular we are." So, I did Google them when I got home. I read that they were touring with Papa Roach, Avenged Sevenfold and Hinder, none of which I give a damn about. I read that their hit song was on top of the charts, and that they had been nominated for several Grammys.

I couldn't help but laugh because none of that mattered to me.
And I hoped that as they stumbled back into their tour bus they felt a little bit of humility, as they realized maybe they aren't really as big of a deal as they thought.

Now the questions remains, without consulting Google, and only having looked at them, would you have known who they were?

Your Uterus Said What?

I don't want children. I never have, and I probably never will. I think I lack a basic maternal instincts that women swear is inherit in all of us. I get glares from people when I tell them I'm not interested in raising kids, or that I really don't like babies. Women get so offended, almost as if not wanting children is blasphemous. I rarely share my opinion for fear of being stoned to death.

Problem is, I hate taking the Pill. The hormones have made me crazy, headachy, and helped me easily pack on the marriage 20lbs that I swore I would avoid. So recently my husband and I began joking that I should just have a hysterectomy. (OK, so maybe we were only half joking, though I doubt they would even do the procedure on someone so young.)
Well, about a week ago I saw this on Cake Wrecks, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. I began doing some serious research, and even made a few calls to women that I knew had the procedure done, all of them unanimously agreed that I should do nothing of the sort. They all said they felt the same at my age, but later decided they really wanted a family after all.
Nothing they said mattered. I had hysterectomy on the brain. I wanted nothing more then for my surgeon to filet my uterus into bite size pieces and remove them one by one from my abdominal cavity.

And then I had this dream.
I was lying in a hospital bed post-op. I was feeling weak, and leaned forward for a glass of water when I heard someone weeping. I looked around to identify the sound when I saw my Uterus sitting up in a chair next to me.

Uterus: "Why would you want to get rid of me? We still had so many good years left together."
GH: "It's nothing personal Uterus. I just don't want children and this was the easiest way."
Uterus: "You're going to regret this."

Suddenly my Uterus leaps forward and starts stabbing me. My ovaries start a war chant, and my fallopian tubes wrap around my neck and start choking me.

In the struggle for my life I jerk awake, and see husband laughing at me. Apparently I woke him up shouting "NO Uterus, NO!!"

Now, I've never been one to interpret dreams, but honestly, a bloodthirsty Uterus avenging its death by murdering me?! What the fuck?
Maybe for now I will leave my lady parts alone, and who knows, maybe my friends are right and eventually when I'm older I will want that family after all.

The Lettuce is Dirty

Due to rapid oxidation of cut fruits and vegetables, a light brownish tint often appears. This is in no way dangerous to your health, and the food item is still perfectly safe to eat.
This is a fact that I though everyone in the world was aware of. I admit it is not the most glamorous thing to look at, and the thought of eating it may even cause us to cringe, but the simple knowledge that it is a natural reaction, and completely harmless give us relief while taking a big bite. At the steakhouse we go through a lot of salad mix. It is hard to catch every piece of lettuce that has a slight discoloration, but we do try to make sure the salads we serve are presentable, and look appetizing.

During a slow evening shift this week, I had the pleasure of serving a family that had apparently been living under a rock since before the Stone Age. Loud grunts and snorts were their means of communication, as was picking lice out of each others hair, and hunting for dinner with wielded clubs.

Caveman: "Messss, S'cuse me messs"
GH: "Yes sir, how can I help you?"
CM: "Salliddds durt"
GH: "I'm sorry, did you say the salad is dirty?"
CM: "Yuss. Look. Its bruwn...still has durt."
GH: Looking forward, and noticing a few tiny brown specks on the spine on the Romaine lettuce "Oh, sir, thats nothing to worry about it. The lettuce is just beginning to oxidize. Its perfectly safe."
CM: "Nooaa... its durrt. I wann new one. Plezz go out bak and pick somme freshh let-us from garden. Make shurre to wash let-us befor return."

Oh good Christ. Fresh lettuce? Garden? Really. "Oh sir. No problem at all, but you'll have to give me a few extra minutes out in the garden, as I also have to water the tomatoes, and compost your leftovers for next seasons harvest."

All You Can Eat Buffet

A strange and unique couple came into the restaurant. He was young, and thin. She was also young, and nearly four times his size. He asked for a side salad and she ordered the all you can eat Brazilian Buffet. She had a Pepsi, and he had a diet. He only ate half his salad, while she gorged herself on the buffet.

Near the end of their meal I walked by with a smile, and asked if everything was ok. He said he was great, and she mentioned how she had never been so stuffed in her life. She made it a point to tell me how she totally "pigged out" and that she could "absolutely explode."

She didn't need to tell me, I already knew. And I couldn't help but think that everything about there visit seemed totally backwards.