Remember on Sesame Street how each episode was “brought to you by” a letter? Or a number? Were they ever brought to you by a color? Beacause if my life was Sesame Street, today’s episode would be brought to me by the color red.

Red Part 1:

I had a meeting with a partner to discuss a real estate deal he’s working on. I’m in charge of investigating one teensy tinsey issue of a huge honkin’ deal. To give you a sense of it- my issue is worth $660,000, which seems like a lot until you realize the whole deal is worth $450 million, at which point a measly $660,000 sounds almost insulting.

So, partner is talking, and I’m nodding politely and taking the occasional note, and then we get to this odd choice of law provision in my teensy tinsey part of this deal and I say “well, maybe they chose the Eastern District of Virginia (the “Rocket Docket”) because of its reputation for efficiency and because local counsel is located in D.C.”

“I don’t know about that,” he says. “I’m just a dirt lawyer. What’s a docket?”

“Um” I stammer.

“No, I know what a docket is, I’m just kidding,” he says. “You didn’t think I don’t know what a docket is, did you?”

Shit. Obviously the guy knows what a docket is. He is a PARTNER at a LAW FIRM. I don’t want him thinking that I thought that he doesn’t know what a docket is, so I say, (truthfully) “oh, no, it’s not that, I just thought you were quizzing me on my knowledge of dockets, which seems awfully harsh for a Friday afternoon.”

“Well in that case,” he said, “let’s make it a quiz. What’s a docket?”

“Um, no, it’s okay, we both know what a docket is,” I reply, flushing crimson. Of course I know what a docket is, but it’s sort of weird to try to explain it on the fly. It’s like if someone asked you to define “report card” without warning- we all know what it is, there’s no need for explanation, but if you were forced to explain it to a stranger from another planet it might actually take a while- you’d have to start by explaining the concept of classes, then the idea of grades, before you could even get to report card, plus it’s the kind of thing that you just know so inherently that it’s awfully hard to explain it- it just is. So no, I don’t want to tell the freaking partner what my definition of a freaking docket is. Jesus.

“You’re right,” he said. “But you sure you don’t want to tell me anyway?”

“Nope!” I’m tomato-colored now. “We’re good!”

He laughs heartily and we continue the meeting for 20 minutes or so and then and I think we’re all done when suddenly he says “Just one more question. Do you always turn so incredibly red when you get embarassed?”

“Um, well,” I say, flushing EVEN REDDER THAN BEFORE, “I guess so!”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Um, thanks? Who the hell calls someone out on their blushing? It’s like saying “hey, do you always sweat a lot?” It’s not like it’s something I can control. It’s a PHYSIOLOGICAL REACTION. Sheesh.

Red Part 2:

Middle aged men having happy hour at a BREW PUB drinking red wine instead of the house-brewed beer and saying things like “well, it’s not a 2000 bordeaux malbec blah blah blah- it’s not even as good as a 2003 blah blah blah- ha ha ha! but it’s pretty good, pretty good!” and then passing the single glass of red wine back and forth between the 4 of them look like tools.

Red Part 3:

(WARNING: Boys are likely to find this part gross and should stop reading here.)

SO! I could not have picked a better day in my whole entire life to be wearing a red patterned skirt, if you get my drift. Phew! Seriously. Not a better day in my whole life. Not even when I was 14 and things were still a little unpredictable in the skirt region, if you catch my meaning. Ahem. Because if I had not been wearing a red skirt, I would not have been able to stand up from my chair, or I would have had to go buy a new skirt on my lunch hour or something. Instead I got to buy a new blouse, which was much more fun.