DOTTIE’S OFFICE GOSSIP – Summer ’14

Well, the time certainly has flown by since my last blog “post”!!! Seems like just yesterday that Art had that heart attack starting the snow blower in the parking lot (the doctor said he’ll be fine – too much lard – and now I”m hot and sticky!

Speaking of which, it’s almost time for Mr. Newrite’s annual birthday party (no one knows when his actual day is, and between you and me and the sea of Gallilee, Mr. Newrite probably doesn’t remember either, although it seemed like he was grunting something when the girls asked him, but it could be too much Splenda in his coffee again) and summertime is probably better than Halloween or Christmas or some crazy Moslem holiday because of everybody’s schedule, and it looks like it’ll be a company picnic again this year, and now all we have to figure out is a gift (and how to make sure you-know-who kicks in this year, I won’t mention any names) but nobody can seem to agree on what to give him.

Golf equipment seems to disturb him (especially that clock with the little rotating balls) and we nixed any more liquor or power tools after that incident involving Steve’s desk. Sheila from shipping said how about a pedicure, but that didn’t sound like such a good idea (my Aunt Lulu used to say that nobody wants to look at an old man’s feet) so it’ll probably be another gift certificate to that place out by the highway with the chicken on the roof.

SCOOPS ‘N’ POOP. As you may have heard, Harold downstairs is on a “leave of absence” so you’ll probably have to buy your own bubble wrap. That was quite a shocker when it turned out he had a secret family living in Seattle (truth be told, he did seem to be gone a lot, and always in the same pants) but no one would have been the wiser if his wife hadn’t accidentally run across the OTHER one putting sunscreen all over his back on Facebook (you couldn’t see his actual back, but I guess there was some tattoo she recognized) which is when the you-know-what hit the fan. Any who, no one’s seen him since January, and if his phone rings you should probably answer it, but just say he’s at lunch and take a message …

NEWZZZ! What a won-der-ful wedding Slats Beeber and his new bride had (we all thought her name was Esmerelda but someone said it’s actually Mitzie) and you can’t blame either of them because that rigatoni definitely had something wrong with it. But the Elks hall is real comfortable now ever since they fixed the air conditioning, and I thought the one-man band was a great solution for a couple on a budget (I don’t care what anybody says, keeping all those instruments going at the same time takes a lot of coordination — could you do that?) and he had a pretty good singing voice too, although he was no Liberace. So it was really nice, and nobody cared that Esmerelda or Mitzie or whatever looked a little inflated around the old spare tire, if you know what I mean, even though she did a great job making her own dress (I always wanted one of those sequin guns — they look so fun!) and you had to laugh when she got carried away after throwing out the garter and started taking off her panty hose (Aunt Lulu would say that some folks just can’t drink Champagne, and some other ones can’t spell it) so I wouldn’t want to be a fly on the wall when they left for their honeymoon, Esmerelda and Mitzie and Slats, all packed into Slats’s mother’s Winnebago, and with the mother driving. (She said Slats’s father never took her anywhere but Racine, and she wanted to see Niagara Falls.) Congratulations, kids!!

‘Bye for now,