For eleven years I've voiced a variation of the following instruction on average of eight times every work day. "Take a normal breath. In and out. (pause) Now take a deep breath in and hold it."
So today, as a lady hugged my x-ray box, I said, "Take a number."
Where did that come from? Not only did I not return anything to a customer service department this weekend, I didn't even shop. I watched two movies. Neither of which had anything to do with taking a number.
At least I could laugh about it. I think she laughed, too. But she seemed rather eager to escape when I finally opened the door and offered her freedom.
Suppose it was a Freudian slip? Maybe I'm supposed to quit my job, go back to school, and become a mathematician.
That's even funnier than the verbal faux pas. In order to grasp my radiation algebra, I needed to borrow my then 8th graders' math book, and I still didn't understand what I was doing. So that theory is a sad one.
Maybe I'm supposed to go to Vegas. You know, numbers. While I'm living out the numbers dream I could be an Elvis impersonator. With lots of gel I could pull of the do and I know I can do a lip curl.
Hmmm. Any of you live in Vegas? Lookin for a roomie (or roomies -- who knows how many family members will embrace my new dream)?