It’s not unusual for me to have to host an awards gala when dinner is being plated. If you’ve taken the mic at such an event, you might know that this is often not even the biggest challenge when it comes to winning over an audience.
There are more offensively worded attacks on your character than someone asking you, “Are you sure this is the hill you want to die on?”. By that I mean only that none of the individual words in this sentence is, in itself, offensive. I believe these words put together are either one of the most loathsome of underhanded comments, or one of the most hilarious of sarcastic verbal smack downs.
You likely have no context for the kind of savage pain the shingles virus can cause. Yes, I’m even talking about you- mothers of babies and dudes who don’t drink enough cranberry juice. Childbirth and kidney stones are a walk in the park compared to shingles. I’ll prove it below with my horror story, which contains (WARNING) disturbing language and imagery.
I make mistakes. When I do, they give me the squirms. Even the smallest misstep haunts me. I may, at times, be too hard on myself. If you, on the other hand, have ever justified a lack of attention to detail with the phrase, “Hey, we’re not doing brain surgery here, relax!”, I want you to immediately stop reading this and put a staple in your tongue.
When it comes to dogs, there are two things I have never been: a “dog person”, and shy about sharing my disdain for them and their owners. I know! It’s ridicule that is unfounded, uninformed and unfair. I’ve never owned a dog. But, it only takes one nippy, yappy, smelly, slobbery pooch to swell my ignorance. It also only takes the stench of one deviant un-scooped doggy swirl on the bottom of my shoe to radiate my fanatical furor into a sweeping criticism of all of their cult-like masters. That is, until I spent a month with Hunter. After even just a few days living with this Border Terrier, I discovered my inner dog person, and what I learned is crucial to your success at work and at home.