I swear that this conversation happened.  I could not get to a computer fast enough to get it logged in and recorded, because it just confirms a lot of what I already believed.. I am, in fact, God.

Me: Well, my work here is done.

Passing Engineer (who shall, from hereon, be known as PE): Heh.  That sounds so terminal.

Me: Thank you, my son.  Yes, terminal it is.  I should just go home.  I am finished here.

PE: Why?

Me: I’m supposed to rest every seventh day.  It’s written somewhere.

PE: Okay, so you’ve created this perfect universe.  Good for you.  But you made a mistake.. you had that hurricane hit New Orleans.

Me: Ah, young one, it just seems like a mistake TODAY.  Give me a year.  You’ll understand then.

PE: What about Rita?

Me: Rita is for people to learn from their mistakes.  It’s about growth.

PE: But they lost close to a thousand people in New Orleans!  What about that?

Me: Sometimes, things like that HAVE to happen.  They’re in a better place.  In fact, I’m late for the big Mardi Gras in the sky as we speak.. hurricanes and jazz for everyone!

PE: So why do things like that HAVE to happen?

Me: I could tell you, but your brain would implode.  You’d melt here, right on this sidewalk.

PE: Well, I feel better having met you.  Thanks for chatting with me.

Me: My pleasure, Dave. (At this point, I really freaked him out.  We had never met.. how would I know his name?  To the untrained eye, I could see how this would be disconcerting.  But to anyone who is a non-engineer.. they’d have also noticed he wears a nametag.)

PE: Oh.  I.. okay.  Yeah, my pleasure, too.

PE: Wait!  Look.. this sounds silly.. but.. I have to ask.  I’m supposed to fly to DC today.. am I gonna make it safely?

Me (feeling bad, because I have clearly used my powers for evil): Yeah, Dave.  You’re gonna be fine.  Today is not your day to die.

Me (over my shoulder): But don’t fly next Wednesday!
 

Well.. so.  Okay then. 

Last you heard, my stomach was causing me pain.  This escalated well into the evening, but luckily, I was on my own and could be as unladylike as I cared to be.  Soon, I was empty and the pain had lessened, so I took a hot bath to relax.  I smelled really good.

Then I put some lotion on.  I felt really good.

And I thought, I should share some of this goodness with Bryan.

I knew the Boy was going home to the green around eight, so when Bryan sent me a text message to let me know that he was in for the night, I went to work.  Man, I put together a KILLER outfit.. thigh-high, black leather stiletto boots.. strapless push-up bra.. lace-up corset.. and a just-a-bit-too-teeny business suit over it.  Donned my "bedroom eyes" make-up, did my hair, and was ready to go.

So was Charlie.

Now, it should be said that I’m actually fairly mobile in stilettos, having spent a good deal of time in them in my younger days.  I am NOT mobile in stilettos in the dark.  In people’s yards.  So when Charlie took off out the front door, Sarah was left to wander around the neighborhood for a good twenty minutes, in the outfit described above, like a hooker who’s lost her John.  And my John was obviously named "Charlie".

A few neighbors stuck their heads out the door, because Charlie does this from time to time, and they know that he’ll come to strangers who pose no (obvious) threat of returning him home.  However, once they took one look at Mistress Sarah, they didn’t care so much to help.  The comfort (and view) of their street-facing windows sufficed.

I finally got that bastard of a dog home, tail wagging and everything (Mistress Sarah does an amazing job), and sat in my car, trying to make the sweat and shivering stop.  My feet hurt.  My thighs hurt.  And I had not even left my own house.

Fast forward to an hour later, on Bryan’s couch: "God, Sarah, you worked up a bit of a sweat there."

He had NO clue.