Sharin' Sharon

by tess

Have you ever worked with someone who is vastly mistaken to think of herself as your friend? It’s vaguely awkward and a little frustrating, isn’t it? These are ten reasons why I cannot befriend Sharon.

1. Blog evidence to the contrary, I’m not generally inclined to share my thoughts with strangers. But Sharon likes to share. Wait, scratch that. Sharon lives to share. She’s asked me 167 times, or every single Monday morning of my tenure:
SS: How was your weekend?
Me: (suddenly deeply engrossed by the riveting ad on my monitor) Fine.
SS: Mmm. This weekend I …
And Sharon goes on to chronicle every captivating moment of the 62 hours during which we were apart … because apparently I need to know.

2. She wears shoes that slap-slap-slap-slap-slap-slap-slap Every Single Day so that I always know exactly where she is. It’s like an annoying bell on the collar of an unwanted cat that you’re too kind-hearted to put out of your misery.

3. Sharon enjoys going to the doctor and having lots of tests. Last year she called an ambulance when she thought cold medicine had somehow interacted with her blood pressure meds. It was nothing. She’s had a dozen MRIs that I know of – all negative. She sees her dermatologist more frequently than I order pizza. “Better safe than sorry” makes sense; “Overkill is the best medicine” does not. Last week she yammered at great length about a forthcoming (next year!) colonoscopy.
Me: (grossed out by the mental image of Sharon’s exposed nether regions) Ewww.
SS: You have to do it. Your time will come. An ounce of prevention…
Me: (moving on with my life) Mm-hmm.
SS: And then you’ll do it because you have to. And then say “ewww.” Tell me all about it then. I’ll remind you of “ewww.”
Me: (deciding it’s time to remove this particular bone from Fido’s jaws) Look, that’s years away and let’s face it, I’m not even going to know you then, so there will be nothing to tell.

4. When she’s not late due to the endless parade of doctors’ appointments, then she’s late because she (I am not making this up!) had to wash her hair. Seriously, in what solar system is that an excuse for tardiness?

5. She orders breakfast delivery so frequently that when the Bagel Bin answers the phone they say, “Hi, Sharon. Lightly toasted salt bagel with fried egg and bacon and a large chocolate milk with a straw?”

6. The volume on Sharon’s iPod is so loud that:
a) Her deafening GOOD MORNING startles co-workers right out of their chairs,
b) I can hear Josh Groban warbling in her earbuds from The Next Room,
c) She can’t hear me the first 4 times I call her for breakfast delivery.

7. She spends the first 30 minutes of each day at her desk troweling on layer upon layer of Mary Kay goo.

8. Like thousands of other lonely, love-starved, middle-aged women in South Florida, she left work early last week to attend AITR (the American Idol Tour of Rejectacons). Wonder if AARP, Ensure, and Hoveround have booths at Senilepalooza?

9. Sharon spends the first half of her lunch break on Facebook. I know it’s my weird personal thing but I think So-Nets should be for kids rather than glitter-wearing, Activia-eating, Glambert-loving suburban granny-panters. She spends the second half calling her sons asking them to explain their Facebook updates and asking who all their little Face-friends are.

10. She has two sons who are interchangeable to me in that I’ve never met either one. I know only that they’re both in their late 20s, both have inexplicably only recently graduated, both still officially live at home, and both receive ridiculous amounts of Xmas booty. (Booty like pirate plunder, not skanky vajayjay.) Son A is currently in NYC and jobless but That’s Not His Fault. Apparently the Satan-worshipping company that hired him for a temporary gig ended the assignment as per the original contract. Thoroughly convinced that they would offer her son permanent employment (and promote him to Emperor of the Universe) once they witnessed his angels-singing-in-heaven glory, she wept for days to hear that he’ll be unemployed and sleeping on a friend’s couch until he’s willing to give it up and return home. Son B is marrying some pop-tart from a “Verrrrrrrry Wealthy Family”, or so I’ve been told 18 bajillion times. Apparently the affianced one is moving in with the gf next month.
SS: (insert interchangeable son’s name here) will be moving out soon. They’ve got a great place in Swinton.
Me: (oblivious to the tell-tale sniffle and looking super busy) Oh, that’s great.
SS: It’s a beeeeeeautiful place. Of course her family is helping to pay. They’re Verrrrry Wealthy.
Me: (using super-human strength to control my rolling eyes) Oh, that’s great.
SS: It looks over a lake. Very park-like gated community with an HOA. Verrrrry upscale.
Me: (thoroughly engrossed in scratching my elbow) Oh, that’s great.
SS: Sigh. So we’ll officially be Empty Nesters in One Short Month.
Me: (with the compassion of a gnat) Oh, that’s great.
SS: Sigh. It was just yesterday when they were little boys. Helping me bake Xmas cookies. Making mother’s day cards. Such sweet boys. Never a problem. Now they’re gooooooonnnnnne.
Me: (looking busy, missing the point, and bored) Oh, that’ll be great.
SS: (finally seeking commiseration elsewhere) Sigh.