I walked into the office this morning, a nasally, heavily breathing, coughing, hot mess. The intern happily informed me she chugged a bottle of cough medicine after last encountering me to prevent catching my plague. Well, super. I don’t feel like a leper at all. When asked by the masses what disease has taken me hostage, I shrugged and took a sip of my tea. I am beyond caring as long as it goes away ASAP.

As we sat around the office, we started discussing Gwyneth Paltrow’s blog, “Goop,” and began to postulate what such an acrostic could mean. The best we could come up with was, “Gwyenth Ooooh Paltrow,” with some jazz hands. Which inevitably launched us into a new, fabulous game I will dub, “Goop Yourself!” For instance, I am “Jooc” (jazz hands). Our intern is “Loom” (spirit fingers). 

I wish I could say it’s a slow day, but no. Huge project to turn in today. But I digress. 

In the middle of hailing a co-worker “Moob,” I was overcome with the urge to blow my nose. I reached for my box of tissues (I carry it around like it’s my pet chihuahua these days) and was in the middle of doing what one does with a tissue when suddenly a coworker pointed at me and shouted, “WHAT COLOR IS IT.”

Everyone turns to me and we all freeze. My tissue is pressed against my nose and it flutters a little when I say, “I feel self-conscious.”
“Look at it,” they all demand, and so I slowly take a peek.
Hands go up in the air in jubilation as someone shouts, “That means it’s not an infection!”
“You’re in the clear!” another shouts and then everyone laughs at the pun because we’re wordies and are dorks like that. 
I don’t know why, but as I toss away my litmus test of a tissue amid the cheers, I feel like I’ve just scored hit scor hit a home run or something.

Anyway, it comes down to this: I am allowed no mystery here at my “grown-up” job. And yet the trade-off is the fabulous perk of being able to play games like “Goop Yourself” and “What Color is It?”

A fair trade, I think.