What can one not have have heard about the archaeologist who wore a party dress to the excavation site?
The one.
It was hot. It was dusty. The archaeologist inverted her boots and knocked the heels together. Dust fell from inside them. The light dust settled on the dark dirt floor. She pulled her boots on. They were sturdy, utilitarian. They looked oddly paired with her dress but the site was precarious. She stood up and left her tent. It was even hotter outside, and dustier. She walked to the site. They were excavating a dinosaur's skeleton. It appeared to be standing. They were digging down. (Of course they were: that is the direction one digs: down.) They seemed to be nearing the end. Most of the others were already there, working. They looked at her oddly. None of them was dressed up. They asked her why she was. She stood for a minute in the hot sun, blinking. She answered shortly and returned to her tent. She changed into her work clothes, berating herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
It wasn't that kind of shindig.
Comments
on 2008-12-25 19:10:15.0, md 20/400 commented:
Groan.
and, further, on 2008-12-29 13:40:47.0, Cryptic Ned commented:
Good one! (dies)
and, further, on 2008-12-29 17:17:07.0, michelle commented:
Greavous.
and, further, on 2009-03-06 19:43:00.0, fahrrad commented:
Dies ist ein großer Ort. Ich möchte hier noch einmal.