Today I get there, and I am walking through the lobby to the hallway that will take me to the kitchen and the office wherein I can get a show schedule. I see she is hanging about by all the bar tables, and I do what I always do and pretend to not see her.

Except then she is all like, “hey! Hey!” and some other words that I didn’t catch because my hearing is on the decline.
So I say, “what? What?”
“Pick me up.”
“Pick you up?”
“Yeah. Pick me up and carry me.”
“Pick you up?” Because apparently I did not understand the first time.
“Do it. Bridal style.”
“I don’t even know if I can pick you up.” Because I doubt myself.
“Well, come here.”
“You’re not really going t–OH MY GOSH! You’re really going to?!”
“I don’t know if I can. We’ll see what happens. Put your arm around my neck.”

So she did. And after the smallest moment where I said to myself that I was an idiot and would drop her…I carried her past the bar and down the hallway, past one of the theatres. I am shocked because she and I are nearly the same height and weight. And I could have carried her all the way to the kitchen, but I did not.

Partly because my work personality was offended by the blatant unprofessionalism and my lack of an explanation for why I was carrying her down the hall, but mostly because she was giggling to the point of hyperventilating, and had a sort of full-body tremor going on that was one of the most carefully described details of a panic attack in the story she sent me. Do happy panic attacks exist? I felt weird about it. But it was really funny because I put her down and she sort of staggered away like a dizzy person and fell against a wall, laughing.

Good times.