The computer help analyst at my job knows my weaknesses and bolsters my strengths. We almost never meet in person, but speak often. She connects remotely to my desktop, and does this often as my valued and trusted troubleshooter. She knows things about me. She knows the way I think, and has come to respect my aesthetic, but still wonders why we discuss aesthetics at all. It’s IT.

We finesse the templates we create for my division simply because I want them to look a very particular way. Her observations about my purposeful way of doing things can seem insulting, but we have formed a relationship that works. I ask about her family, she doesn’t ask me anything. But I tell her things about myself none the less.

I am font specific. She couldn’t care less. The template looked just the way I wanted it to, except the font would default to Times New Roman. She told me that’s our default font. NO,  that won’t work. You know she said “you are probably the only person on the planet that cares about a font.” We both laughed. And then I said “you know when I meet a guy I don’t ask him what he does for a living or where he’s from, I ask him what his favorite font is.” I laughed. Stone cold and glib she said “and that Jill is why you are alone.” We laughed. She doesn’t work on Fridays, and we are both off for the fourth of July on Monday. We each told the other to enjoy the long weekend. She will be cleaning out her garage. I will be working on Raw Candor. We’ll talk again on Tuesday. I love her.