Is it a wonder, people, that I started smoking on February 12th, 1997? I remember that night. I was working as a waitress at a 50's style Diner in Indiana. This was the kind of diner where all of the girls wore those cute little dresses with all of the ruffles and went by names like "Daffy" and "Sweetheart". That night we had one of the worst rushes in the history of the restaurant. The cash register broke. One of the cooks quit, and our manager had an emotional breakdown. We had a bad batch of shake glasses, and I managed to break an entire tray of shake glasses. I saved the situation by throwing the tray toward me, thus, away from the customers. We were so busy that I did not have time to clean much of the shake off of the front of my dress. Chocolate malt is sticky. To top all of this off, I was having major family issues, my car was not starting, etc. It was a typical February day.
Everyone I know thinks I am joking when I speak of February in hushed and fearful tones. Then, they get to witness it first hand. I don't understand how one month can possibally be so bad. February was the month that I lost my first love, my childhood dog died, my cousin died, my new kitten died, even a turtle that I caught died, in February. I am just scraping the surface, giving a small sample of the horror that is February.
I start to get nervous about February about this time of year. I think to myself, "Maybe it won't be so bad." Then I realize that there is no sense in denying it. February will be horrible, and I just can't wait and see what misery awaits me.
I have approximately a month and a half, I better live it up.
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