There's this girl at work who is that cool girl. The one who wears cargo pants and a long sleeve t-shirt under a short sleeve t-shirt and puts her hair up in that messy pony tail and wears glasses and still looks like a Fashion Do. She's the one who sits in the back and says pithy things under her breath. Cool.
Today she called me HaneDog. I have never been called HaneDog before. Do I have to take up snowboarding now? I really don't want to jump out of a helicopter. Being buried in an avalanche is only slightly less horrible than dying of a shark attack, which I think is my greatest fear. Because I think you'd be alive long enough to know a shark was eating you and that would be truly the absolutely worst thing in the world and then you'd die with that knowledge. I hate sharks. And being cold.
But being called HaneDog by the cool girl, who can talk about pee and make it sound cool, that might be worth risking at least a little frost bite.
HaneDog out.
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