4:30am: Drag myself out to the pool for laps. In this oblivious state, get yelled at by hotel staff to navigate around the floor buffing. Think, “Christ, the maintenance at Disney is never-ending. Why can’t they ever put away my ironing board?”
4:35am: Get in pool and have irrational fears that an alligator is in the water waiting for me.
5:30am: Traipse thru hotel in towel soaking wet hoping I don’t see anyone I know.
5:35am: Co-worker gets off elevator and says “Hi Sharon!” while my wet haggardness gets on.
7am call time: Bitch about not sufficiently “visiting Kathy’s parents” then smart-assedly ask what everyone’s plans are for their day at Disney.
12noon: Point out how tight the morning’s lose-fitting clothes have become and how my doughboy capabilities are uncanny. (While this has remained a source of – mostly my – amusement over the years, I should probably see a doctor.)
3pm – 6pm: Make various inappropriate comments about everyone and everything (role plays, incompetent tech guys, hooker load-ins, etc.) as it is my way.
4pm: Realize we all have LMFAO’s “Party Rock” hatefully stuck in our heads.
4:05pm: Sing techno break to “Party Rock” with co-workers against our will for 5th time.
5pm: Mention again (because that horse is not quite pulp), that I am such a bloatation device, they could fly me in the Macy’s parade… and just in time for the dinner troughs.
6:30pm: Whisk out of our meal buffet with a covered plate to smuggle up to hotel room to enjoy with boxed red wine while lounging in my underwear. (Glamorous!)
8:00pm: Fall asleep in front of TV with glass of wine at my side.
12:30am: Awake in a panic thinking it is morning.
4am: Repeat cycle (until I have no idea what day it is).