Draining the ankle

For some reason, Marcy the intern keeps coming around. I have no idea why. She shows no real interest in news gathering, and not much natural aptitude for it either. Yet she comes every Tuesday and Thursday, blonde hair done up in a messy bun, dragging her tatoo-ed feet, one shoulder dragged down by that heavy Louis Vuitton bag.

Today, she came up to me and grabbed my ankle. I almost kicked her, I was so self-concious about not having shaved my legs in awhile and having someone I didn't know well touch it. But she just wanted to see if the pressure of her touch would leave an imprint on my skin, like it does on hers when someone presses their fingers against it.

Specifically, it was her aunt who grabbed her lily white (but slightly sunburned) ankle and noticed this. She told Marcy the imprint was a sign that Marcy wasn't taking care of herself. Specifically that Marcy wasn't peeing enough.

So on the way to the bathroom Marcy said, "OK, you guys I'm going to go pee now and drain my ankle."

And off she went.

I swear, that girl is lucky she was blessed with blonde hair, big blue eyes and a lithe figure. Otherwise people would jeer and beat her up instead of laugh and pat her on the head.