On a first date I scorched the roof of my mouth drinking
chamomile tea. Five minutes in and the silky pink flesh of my hard palate began
to swell in angry, inflamed defiance. It stung to raise my tongue. For God’s sake, I panicked internally,
hoping the pain-prompted mistiness in my eyes made me look demure, couldn’t you have just let that cool?! I never let on.
Similarly, I once attended an interview sporting a fever of
101 degrees. It was an exercise in how to gesticulate – my default mode of
expression – without raising one’s arms. The interview lasted a half hour and I
sweat through my periwinkle blouse. Stepping out of the general manager’s
back office I shook the man’s hand, thanked him for his time and promptly
headed to the emergency room.
I waffle between glorifying and criticizing my persistence.
A classified ad for me might read:
Madison, a valuable date and employee, so loyal and polite she'll basically die here if you want! But don't worry, she'll make sure not to inconvenience you while doing so!
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