the country singer twangs on...
'just a sweet little somethin' to put my arms around...'
I swivel my black-leather chair and use the momentum to thrust my body in the position of the 'tracking' button on the clock radio posing as entertainment in the cramped office of Brentwood magazine.
But before I can change the station to the soothing tones of 89.9's 'Morning Becomes Eclectic' my hyper-aware boss hollers from his back office. 'Whaddya' doin?' He stalks into the main room with the easy assurance and stiff-arm stance of a former model/minor league baseball player. He pats me on my faded beret letting his big hand rest for the exactly one extra blip in time that eases across the line between friendly and inappropriate.
"Don't worry honey," he patronizes in fatherly tones, which make his office decor of hot blond models under the age of 25 all the more creepy, "You'll learn to appreciate country music more, as you get older."