2003-03-21 - 10:58 a.m.
100 days is rare, not like the common 31 or even 28.
Around the world in 100 days.
The first 100 days of presidency.
I’ve seen in teacher mail-order catalogs stickers, erasers, pencil sharpeners celebrating the 100th day of school, a day that passed by in each of my 16 years of traditional education without my noticing.
Other than those three, I really don't encounter 100 days, as its a litle too long and too short for anything, really.
But she’s chosen it, 100 days.
She, the one with the cold, unwavering voice.
Every 100 days, she drops the same emotional bomb on me, careful to not let the delivery of her repetitive yet informational lines warn me of the explosive’s contents.
Sometimes its Erin, forgetting her phone number, complementing my boner and telling me she loves me.
Other times its that guy, telling me how he likes the way I lick it, the way I suck it.
Or its my Grandma thanking Bevin and me for making this the most beautiful day of her life.
Today, it was Mary Kay, and she was hugging her mom.
I hung up the phone and made plans to take Mary Kay and her mom on a car trip to San Diego. I suppose the woman with the cold voice can come along, she probably needs it as much as we do. We’ll just play Pat Benetar loudly to drone out her constantly repeating “You have 34 saved messages.”
