The Writer Finishes Her Talk
I wrinkled my nose at the sentence. “That wasn’t very carefully worded.”
“Nope – but seriously, he’s the complete epitome of scary bosses,” Emma said, quite earnestly. “He’s horrid! Especially if he doesn’t have coffee in the morning.”
”’You’ve been turned into a deliverer?”
Emma grunted, and then imitated a gruff voice. “You! Yeah, you, Milton!”
I laughed again at the mistake of her surname. Emma’s last name is Miller. She might be a good at phrasing, but she can’t stand up to John Milton.
“Get me a triple chocolate mint fudge machiatto with whipped cream, chocolate shavings and cookie sticks! Now!“
“Does that even exist?” I asked into the phone, where I could hear Emma growling to herself about unfair bosses.
“Well, it certainly existed yesterday morning. I did three deliveries before I got the damn thing right,” Emma puffed, and I could hear footsteps.
”’Kay, AIDS , duty – more like dictator – calls! Keep your chin up.”
“Will do. Bye, Ems,” I said, and clicked the phone shut.