We had a cookout at work yesterday. The last time we had b-b-q catered and I woke up at 2am with severe diarrhea and vomiting. This time I lucked out, we had hotdogs, and all I ate were hotdogs, chips and homemade ice cream. This time all I got was the runs. Lucky, huh?

Company cookouts, the new diet regimen.

I’ll have a few good stories about my new co-worker. Sweetie pie, loves to chat, even when you first walk in the door and you’ve only rolled out of bed a mere hour before.
At the cookout, she asked me how the homemade ice cream was made. I told her I didn’t know. She asked what the ingredients were. I asked her if she’d ever made ice cream before. She replied in the negative.
“ Neither have I,” I said.
“ But what goes in it? Milk? Sugar?” she asks a minute later.
“ Have you ever made ice cream before? “ I ask. She shakes her head no. “ Well, I’ve just told you three times I haven’t either, so why do you keep asking me what goes in the concoction?” Agh!
(And she did ask, one more time, just so you know.)