I spent the entire day after my first shower ever itching and scratching like some diseased cat. I guess 90 minutes of soap and lather threw off my delicate donkey pegasus ph balance. Thanks for the help friend, no really, I appreciate you setting me straight. Jerks.

Good thing us modern mammals know who to trust in times like these:

http://www.wikihow.com/Take-a-Shower
http://www.wikihow.com/Enjoy-a-Shower
http://www.wikihow.com/Dry-Yourself-After-a-Shower

Interesting reading actually. I bet there’s something you’re doing wrong every day. But I digress, the question is… do I get the girl or not? Well, let me give you the 411 (I just learned that from Raul; it’s means info, the scoop, the haps on the craps. Gross, I said crap.)

Anyhow, this morning I anticipated that my little spring duckling might finally be feeling up to snuff, so I once again rose in the early dawn, stretched my wings, and flew south from my sweet Alcatraz to San Francisco’s modest but lively financial district. At this hour, the glassy windows were just beginning to reflect the new day’s solar kiss. The moon was fighting its sleep as it hung like an old hat in the West. Not even the zombie lawyers stirred in the building, so with two towels in tow (close observation of step #1 in How to Dry Yourself…) I stepped into the shower room, determined to use only a modest dollop of my new shampoo/conditioner mix. Pantene Pro-V this time… slightly more expensive but it gives a glassy shine so say my sources.

I didn’t quite make my goal of 15 minutes, but I shaved off 20 minutes from my previous record and used my towels for drying instead of the hand dryers in the men’s room. This shampoo smells nothing like flowers; instead it has a light masculine musk reminiscent of sandalwood which I’m sure Lisa will respond well to. At 8:30am I was at my desk, prancing around like a freshly groomed poodle, only not as weird. Poodles are weird. There, I said it.

Lisa: Hi Donkey Pegasus, you’re in early this morning.

Me (hovering over her desk, swaying back and forth a bit so my fresh scent might waft into her nasal awareness): Good morning Lisa, you look healthy today.

Cherub Face: I’m feeling much better, thank you for being so understanding.

Me (rotating just slightly back and forth so the translucent lights would adequately shimmer onto my shiny coat): Well I care about you Lisa. I mean, I want you to be happy. I mean, healthy. Happy too of course, but I’m not entirely responsible for your happiness. I mean, I’m sure I could do things to make you happier at work, but at home, well… you know, I’ve never even been to your house, not that I’m fishing for an invitation, but you know… maybe we could eat a salad sometime together. At night. Or on the weekend. But I don’t mean at your house… unless you wanted to actually make the salad. Do you like salad?

Lisa: Of course I do. Um… gee Donkey Pegasus, a salad sounds like a really—RING, RING, RING—oh, let me get this, (stupid phone) it might be Sherry from Reebok about the blue shoelace recall.

Me (no longer swaying, no longer rotating in the light to look shiny): Sure, go ahead and get it. We can just pick right up where we left—

And then she picked up the phone and started talking, for a long time. And then I had to go to a meeting in SOMA for a client pitch. And then she had to go do a press check. And then I was in my weekly finance meeting, and it ran late and I saw Lisa walk out around 6pm and I was still caught looking at spreadsheets (I’m a wizard with the Boolean stuff).

So… to be continued I guess. I thought of maybe calling her later but I don’t have a phone in my nest. Suppose I’ll just bring it up again tomorrow, maybe not the salad angle though. I’ve never even seen her eat a salad. ‘Um… gee Donkey Pegasus, a salad sounds like a really’ is what she said. Really what?

Really wonderful, like the best idea ever why don’t you just take me in your wings and kiss me now, ask me to marry you, and worry about the animal husbandry later (maybe we’d adopt)? Or is it Really retarded that you’d think I’d want to eat a salad with you. I’m not a donkey, I eat your distant cousins. I eat normal human things you wild maniac, get out of my face before I vomit. Which one is it? I can’t keep this shower schedule up for much longer. It’s killing my sensitive skin and I’m exhausted by five.

Does she love me or does she just work for me? Je ne sais pas.