There’s an old saying, ‘if you
don’t want to do something, one excuse is as good as another.’ I put that to the test today. In retrospect I shouldn’t
have balked at the invitation. The Santa Barbara Beauty Contest is a guaranteed publicity event. And I was invited to be one
of the judges.
Oh, the idea sent the hormones into over-drive.
But I had a couple of problems. One, is the principle of the thing. I don’t think women, or anyone, should be judged
based upon what they look like. Second, Angie, my Administrative Assistant, would, should I accept the job, slam drawers,
‘sir’ me to death, and cast glares at me hot enough to burn right through my steel reinforced safe for the next
I did the only thing I could. After all, Lee’s
young, virile, single (well, technically; after all, his relationship with Miss Hale is still without benefit of clergy, naughty
boy) and would be a suitable substitute to represent NIMR. I could just see the female committee members drooling over their
steno pads. Yes, talk Lee into it, I convinced myself . That was the plan, and if I say so myself, brilliantly executed.
If I felt a little guilty about using my almost
paternal rapport with Lee to sway him, I was sure to hide it.
So, I was a little surprised to see Lee still
at his desk past 1800 hours, when the committee meeting was at 1500.
“Lola,” he explained in one word
as I stood in the doorway with a raised eyebrow in his direction.
“Oh,” I said, fearing the worst,
that I was stuck with the job.
“It’s okay. Chip’s doing
it. Kowalski’s helping.”
“Kowalski?” I almost choked. “That’s
like putting gasoline on a fire…”
“I’ll just bet…”
“There’s a lot of paperwork.”
“And I wonder who put that notion in
Lee just grinned, then asked if he might join
me at the golf course on Saturday. Of course, I readily agreed and we parted
for the night looking forward to the weekend and maybe some BBQ after. While we watch the pageant on TV.
There’s just one problem about tomorrow.
Lee’s no good at golf. But I think he wants
to be anywhere but at NIMR or at his apartment should Chip try to call
to complain to him. (Ski’s no good at spreadsheets) And the course frowns on players having their cell phones turned
Yes, the old adage is true. One excuse is
as good as another.