I worked with my pal Ed the other day on what I can only call, a very challenging job, without picking the scab of it’s afterlife.
Watching Ed, as exhausted as I, soldier on without breaking a sweat looking as fresh as when first arriving 13 or so hours earlier, seemed like a sartorial sleight of hand.
Where I, in comparison, was like a wilted rose left for dead on a buffet table. At one point, my head slumped in my lap while sitting on a step, Ed came over to see if I was still breathing causing me to jump in the air as if I were launched.
Later, when I got my second wind, a concept forever eluding me, I found him on a couch with his ever present bowtie at half mast, like Vic Damone in between sets, but when they asked for our return, he clipped and zipped like the true trooper he is.
As for me, I had other ideas, like a nap quietly taken in an upstairs ladies room no one seemed to know anything about.
A girl, even on the clock, needs her beauty sleep after all.