Day 17 found me sitting at my desk, unable to log into the external hard-drive which houses our client documents.  It’s plugged into my legal assistant (slash, best friend)’s computer.  He doesn’t work on Fridays.  I click down to “Homegroup” and fail to see the name of his computer.  Instead of walking out to the receptionist area to query Carolyn, I violate my own cardinal rule and holler.  Ouch.

Two or three re-boots later, I’m back in business and feeling grumpy.  Drat that woman, she smiled through the whole thing.  “It says ‘re-start windows'”, she tells me, standing, waiting, in the doorway.  I sigh.  “Did you?” I ask. She shakes her head.  “Well, would you?” I wrench the words out of the pit of my stomach.  She nods her head.  I grind my teeth.  A few parlays later, I’m drafting a pre-trial order and she remains unruffled.  I, however, am mumbling five Hail Mary’s and three Our Father’s for my sins, in self-imposed exile, under the theory that complaining by way of tone of voice or frigid glance definitely counts.  “Foul!”  Benched.

Two steps forward, one step backwards.  Good thing my secretary is a saint.  She, my suite-mate Jane Williams and I left ten minutes early.  She smiled and told me to have a good weekend.  I wished her the same.  I threw my bag onto the seat of my car and crammed my body between the steering wheel and the seatback.  I glanced in the rear view mirror and watched Carolyn and Jane walk down the sidewalk, wishing, for the first time, that I had been born with something more closely resembling a civil tongue instead of what I got, which is a smart mouth.

Can sweetness be learned?  Gawd, I hope so.