The other day I was stapling checks to bills and I came to the Staples, Inc. invoice. I placed the check on top, straightened the papers together and slid it under the stapler.
Nothing. Out of staples. What are the chances of that, humm? I mean, running out of staples just as I processed the Staples invoice? My boss walked by the closet and heard my guffaws. She stuck her head in and her eyes grazed the room, noting I was alone. "What is so funny?"
I wiped the corner of my eyes and snuffled, reining in the mirth. "The Staples check. I ran out of staples. It is like the invoice just sucked the staples right out of my stapler. Like it called all the staples back to the mother ship."
She stared at me for a couple of heartbeats. One eyebrow rose.
"I write fiction," I defended, shrugging. I sent her a bright smile.
Her head shook side to side. "You are more than a fiction writer. You live a lot of your life in the make-believe."
I took that as a compliment.