At work today, less than 24 hours before I hit the quarter-century mark, I was looking up an e-mail address to which I could send a newspaper a press release. When I found the page with contact information, I saw the last name of the editor was “Boner.”
Sounds about right.
And I giggled. Like a 13-year-old. Because I think that’s when I stopped maturing.
Then I giggled some more upon discovering that instead of the standard “firstname.lastname@newspaper.com” format everyone else had for their e-mail addresses, hers was something like “barb@newspaper.com.” Probably because her last name is “Boner.”
Then my boss walked by and called me “giggly.” I would have told him what I was giggling at, except he was going on a food run and asked if I wanted anything, and I didn’t want to jeopardize my chances of getting a snack by telling him I was laughing at someone named “Boner.”
And you know what? I got my yogurt. Not the flavor I wanted, but I probably wouldn’t have any yogurt at all had I admitted to giggling at “Boner.”
So much for turning 25…
Squirrel Thoughts 