The most romantic muscle isn’t the heart; it’s the bicep.

Ever since I was a teenager, I wanted a man who would tattoo my name on his arm.  The Mexican wearing this shirt is the closest I’ve come.  Nice try.

Heh.

Someone just left my boss’s office and, as she was leaving, said loudly:  “See you next Tuesday!”  [What I heard.]

D’OH!

I’m trying to be sociable and feel a part of the church I joined last fall, so I signed up for the greeter ministry in which I hold the front door for people coming in the building or pass out bulletins at the entrance to the sanctuary.(The sanctuary being an improv theater as my church holds service in a comedy club.Isn’t that fabulous)?

Anyway, periodically some person in charge of coordinating the workers of all the ministries sends out an email with the schedule of us all.  Friday we received one with a correction made to March’s calendar for this past Sunday.

Feeling all helpful and familiar and okay a bit smug, I “replied all”:“AND!Don’t forget to set your clocks back an hour Saturday night!”

Within a minute one of the guys on my greeter team “replied all” himself, saying: “She meant set our clocks AHEAD.”

How embarrassing.