​Ursula wiped her sweaty palms down the front of her skirt as she walked into the hiring manager’s office for a third round of  interviewing.  She  hoped  that  having  made  such  progress would result in a job offer. She also hoped her palms hadn’t left smears of dampness on the fabric.

“Now, Ms. Cartwright, we’ll need a blood sample,” Mr. Argosie said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the cluttered surface of his desk.

“A blood sample?” she echoed, questioning the odd request.

“Yes. We need to verify the absence of any illegal substances.”

“Surely, a urine test is sufficient?”

His pudgy fingers steepled under his clean shaven double chin. “Not at this level, Ms. Cartwright. We deal with highly sen-sitive material and a clear and lucid mind is necessary. Besides, a blood test will catch anything remaining in your system for a longer period of time than a urine test.”

Although reluctant, Ursula agreed because she could not refute his assertion with any confidence. With a small smile, Mr. Argosie called in a phlebotomist who entered and drew a vial of blood with brusque efficiency.

“We test for more than the usual half dozen illegal substances, Ms. Cartwright.”

No, I'm not trying to keep up with the Joneses. I'm trying to keep up with my obligations.

January's been a super-busy month. I suppose some of that busy-ness comes from months of forced inactivity due to governmental overreaction to the novel coronavirus. (Did you know that Germany will begin forcibly moving people who break quarantine to internment camps? Locally in Yellow Springs, Ohio, people can be ticketed and fined for not wearing masks when they're outside. It's absurd, folks. We've gone the way of totalitarianism.)

With the economy limping and election shenanigans and a whole lot of dissent and mud-flinging going around social media, I almost wonder how anyone has the time to write. But they do. Some write to remember. Some write to escape. Some realize their writing needs to be edited.

Regardless, a freelancer never takes time off from marketing. We can't. We load our plates as full as we can to tide us over when work is lean. In the meantime, I'll enjoy the feast portion of the feast-or-famine cycle. My cup runneth over and I am grateful.

So, what else is coming down the pike? My event plans for last year have mostly been postpone to this year. I don't think any are scheduled until May, but then I haven't glanced at my calendar of events this morning. Right now, I'm doing well just to remember to take the cat to the veterinarian for his monthly asthma shot and remember to order the dog's incontinence medications. (When a Great Dane leaks, you know it.)

With heartfelt prayers that our nation will come to its collective senses and our world will soon acclimate to the reality that we cannot eliminate COVID-19 (we have to learn to live with its presence), I thank you for your attention to the blog and will get back to work.

“What just happened down there?” she finally asked. 

I felt my mouth curve in a smirk. “We kissed.”

Her full lips pressed together in a thin line before she replied, “I figured that one out, thank you.”

“Then you’re as smart as Sonya says you are,” I quipped.

She made a sound and I could not quite tell if it was annoyance or humor. “No, really, Sam. I mean we’ve known each other for, what, three years? You’ve never been attracted to me. Why now?”

“I’ve always been attracted to you,” I countered. “I simply never acted upon it.”

Her eyes widened with surprise at my candor. Tilting her head, she blurted, “Why not?”

“Because you weren’t my type.”

“Your type?” Her eyes narrowed, probably imagining some bottle blonde bimbo with big hair and boobs and very little brain.

“Temporary,” I explained. My gaze ran over her lean form and subtle curves. “You’re anything but a one night stand.”

“Oh.” She swallowed. Audibly.
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