I received an angry call from Sophie this morning. Something about a terrible fuck-up.
If you don't know it yet, she's back in school, taking up courses to finally complete her university degree. Two weeks ago, she asked me a favor -- to edit the final draft of a research paper she wrote before she submits it.
The paper is about genetically-modified organisms, or GMO's. It was along my line of interest too, so I said ok.
Hence I had been spending some time last week to edit it, sexing it up here and there to make it more impressive. (She said, "Sex it up please." I said, "You know that's my forte." Lol. Hey, GMO is all about hot-wired sex, ain't it?)
"But I have a little quid pro quo," I had hastened to add. "Jiggy and I are going to see Dark Knight this Sunday. I know you'll be in town then. I'll get three tickets. Ok with you?" My heart was saying, "Please say yes, please say yes."
"Uhm, ok," she said to my barely breathing breast. "I'll text you later to confirm."
To cut a long story short, Sophie later said sorry, Batman and Joker gonna have to wait. She was rushing another paper. And Jiggy said Sunday morning he had changed his mind and no longer wanted to go. It's fuckin no fun to watch DK alone, so I didn't go either.
Instead, I spent the whole of Sunday, and parts of Monday and Tuesday, sprucing up Sophie's paper, with my typical professionalism colored by a slight sulking mood. Hey, my little quid pro quo didn't work, so I had the right to sulk a bit.
Anyway, I rewrote the title to make it more eye-catching: "Genetically Modified Organisms: Promises and Dangers," before I finally emailed it to her. An editor doesn't let emotions get in the way. I was proud of my work.
So back to her angry call this morning.
"Moon, why the fuck did you do THAT?"
"Do what?"
"The title! The whole cover page, my God. I submitted it already before I noticed! My adviser should be snickering by now!" Her tone told me she was on the verge of tears.
"What do you mean, 'title'. It was an awesome title, if you ask me."
"Awesome indeed...! It should be organism, not orgasm, you bumbling nitwit! Go check the file you sent me!"
I had no answer to that. I re-checked the file. Yup. There it was, alright, in huge type. Genetically modified orgasms. The promises and the dangers. Oooh-la-la. Yesss! Oou-ee! An awesome thought, if you ask me.
"Hello, Sophie. Yeah. I see now. Guess I fucked up. Sorry..."
"Mind in the gutter, as always..."
"No, really, I was focused on sexing it up, like you suggested."
"If I didn't know you any better, Moon, I'd suspect that you did it on purpose, because I stood you up last Sunday." Her tone was calmer now.
"No I didn't. Honest."
"Anyway, thank you. I hope I get at least a passing grade for it. Buenos dias."
"Hey, I'll make it up to you. Will you be in town next week? The Dark Knight is still showing... Hello, Sophie.... hello? You still there?"
She's still angry. I know she'll find a way to swap that title page.
But why am I snickering?
My bad. Sometimes I could be a real bad-ass clown. Lol.
