one small girl

sweet as a eucalyptus, terrible as a tempest

III.

Sunday, 20 June 2004

BD distinctly remembers that the living room was a mess when he left it this morning. He could not afford to fall behind schedule, so he left everything he was working on, including his morning paper and coffee mug scattered all over the place. "Ohmigod, my notes!"

Just then, Aimee Rae walked into the room, a squidgy on one hand and a bottle of Windex on the other. "Were all that mess yours? I fixed them, they're over there on the corner table. Sorry, i knew they weren't mine, but i just couldn't stand the mess."

If the "Mark as Unread" option in email clients were to take a human form, it would be Aimee Rae. BD went over to the corner table, relieved to find everything intact, and more. The newspaper he had read this morning --he can see his doodles, and the defaced picture of Loren Legarda -- was so crisply folded he could've sworn it had never been touched at all. His notes were--

"That's a nice script you got there," said Aimee Rae, interrupting his thoughts. "Anyway, the pages with the white paper clips are your first draft, including side notes, summary, sequence treatment, etc. Second draft is in red, and the third is in blue. That way, you'd easily know which is which."

--color-coded. "Wow," said BD in almost speechless awe. "I've never met anybody this...anal."

"Excuse me," said Aimee Rae, holding a finger up in protest. "Only my boss is allowed to call me that. But thanks. Now if you'll excuse me once more, i'm off to clean the grimy doors. Doesn't anybody clean this house? I did not come here to play housekeeper, you know..."

With that, Aimee Rae turned off the automated sliding doors and started spritzing and wiping. "Fingerprints?!" she muttered, shaking her head. "How do automated doors get fingerprints?!"

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motime tales

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