Dyre consequences

Okay so I just left lunch laughing like a maniac... mostly because it's 30 degrees out in the shade and I was getting a little loopy, but also because there was nothing left to say, and also because there was a group of women sitting behind me practicing their French and the things they were saying and how they were saying it were just so cute, and anglicized and... oh, I sound so snobby, look at the French-speaking snob... but seriously, not laughing at them, which is probably what everyone thought. I'm not THAT mean. So anyway, then my lunch was over, and I was too hot, and I walked into the building alone and met in the entry way, or rather was caught in the entry way, between the two sets of doors, by a guy I knew in high school (ahem, so hot) who the last time I saw him was completely hammered, hugged me, and told me that anything I ever wrote he would buy... in fact, he would give me "SEVEN DOLLARS!" for it, no questions. Apparently when inebriated men's capacities for assigning appropriate values to commodities is diminished by a factor of about 10... I think I can safely say this goes for a lot of things -- beer goggles anyone? Anyway, even so, I know he meant it as a compliment, and so far in my literary career, its just about the best comment I've ever gotten.
It wasn't so surprising though, coming from a guy who was able to calm my nerves on the first day of grade 7, when no one else could... but that's a different story... and one probably only I remember...
Too bad you guys had to miss all the excitement. heh heh

Oh, and I should probably explain the title, in case you're all wondering at the spelling... Dyre is his last name. ha ha, I'm so freakin' clever...