My colleagues, several of whom couldn't name more than one White Sox player and think Ozzie Guillen is still the shortstop, are trying to instigate a dispute with me, a diehard Cub fan. The White Sox have won the American League pennant and are awaiting their rivals for the World Series, which begins this weekend. The Cubs are once again relegated to "waiting until next year" - - a phrase we coined, I think.
Trouble is....I don't care.
I leave for Australia in less than two weeks and for me, baseball season has been over for a few weeks now. I'm busy counting the days till Sydney and then Spring Training.
It reminds me of a situation a few years back with my ex-husband. It was a few weeks after we filed for divorce (amicably, I might add). We were riding an elevator to a courtroom where we could finalize things.
"I'm dating this girl and she told me that her ex-husband calls her Lucy, short for Lucifer," said the ex. (I suppressed the urge to laugh at the fact that my ex would be dating someone that reminds another person of the devil.)
"I have a nickname for you, too." He added, waiting anxiously for me to ask what possible monniker he could have for me when in the company of his (alcoholic, jobless, living-with-their-parents) friends.
A minute goes by...No answer.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him squirm as he desperately wanted to impart this bit of information.
Just then, the elevator doors open and we arrive at the courtroom and the conversation-- the verbal poking-- is over.
Sox fans don't bug me, neither do ex-husbands.
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