When I was little, my grandma would make me these horrible frozen chicken tenders filled with cheese. They were just god-awful. Because I am a good grandson, I told her that I loved them. From then on, every time that I visited her, she would cook me those abominations. Even when I was in graduate school, I would go visit her and for one meal, I would have to slide those gross things down my gullet.
Every time I would say, “Thanks! I love them!” The things we do for love…
I was having a rough time commuting too far for work for a few months. Decided to quit to find something closer to home, but told everyone I had been approved to work from home. When I went to give my two weeks, my manager asked, “I know the driving has been killing you, how would you feel about working from home?”
Work laptop to my left and watching Great British Masterclass as I type, been working at home since then.
My upstairs neighbor called me Mark in a conversation but since that is not my name, I didn’t realize she was actually referring to me so I didn’t correct her. The second time she called me Mark it was from a distance as she was leaving her apartment and I was getting in; I registered that she thought my name was Mark but I felt it would be weird to shout back that my name is not Mark. The third time she did this I had a bunch of friends over on the stoop outside the apartment and I didn’t want to correct her in front of a group of kids (she’s an older lady; we were in our early twenties) because I didn’t want to embarrass her. All my friends looked confused that she was calling me Mark but after she went inside I explained to them I was too deep into it to correct her. They disagreed since she had only done it three times at that point.
That was 7 years ago. I am Mark.