The horse is dead. Really...he's a goner. You can put the bat down now.

I love my coworkers (all 9 of them). We're like family. We care about each other. Support each other. Make each other laugh. And, just like family, we often argue and pick on each other like adolescent brothers and sisters.

One of the ways in which we as a group remind me of a family is the way we NEVER let things lie. Like my own family, for example: every one of my family members thinks it's uproariously funny to mention "The Allison Hug" at every family gathering. "The Allison Hug" refers to the alleged way I used to hug them. It was a limp hugging style...bodies not touching...mostly involving hands gently patting on the upper back. What can I say? It was during my middle school years...when I didn't like to be touched. I'm a loveable, enthusiastic hugger NOW, and that's all that should matter. Or, how about the way my mother refers to milk as "golly-ga" or "gulp" when my brothers are around just because that's how they pronounced it 30 years ago or so. It's really not that cute any more. I guess all families do this, right? Please tell me that all families do this!! If I can't believe that, then I'll be pushed a little closer towards insanity.

So, had I fully realized way back in June what the familial nature of our staff is/would be, I may have avoided setting myself up the way I did. After I had been working here for a few weeks, we had a day-long staff retreat at a local plantation home/conference center. At that point, I hadn't yet revealed myself as the smart-ass that I am. I usually try to reveal that in small doses so to not scare people off, you know? I let it out in small tufts...like air slowly escaping a balloon.

We had a full day planned; every mintue already occupied on the schedule. An "expert" speaker had been recruited. Games would be played. Planning would take place in grand form. Good food would be eaten...constantly...all day long. Everyone was milling around when I arrived...drinking coffee and casually chatting. Renee, my boss, was standing by a table alone, organizing her papers. I walked over to her to say good morning. Placing my hand on her shoulder, I spoke in a very serious voice.

"Renee, I have something kinda special planned. I've been practicing an interpretive dance that illustrates the importance of teamwork. I have music with it and everything. When do you think we might have time today for me to perform this?" Still serious. No smile on my face. I don't have a clue why I say these types of things to people. I never plan it. It just happens. I think my sense of humor has me wired like someone suffering fromTourette's Syndrome.

She was obviously shocked. The look on her face showed that she was locked in an emotion somewhere between confusion and panic. I could tell that part of her wanted to laugh, but the professional side of her told her that she COULD'NT laugh; not to my face, anyway. Her eyes darted around searching for somewhere nearby that had overheard because she knew immediately that, later on, she would want someone to laugh WITH.

"Oh! Okay. Well..." All she could get out were one-word sentences. She was searching her brain for an answer, but one failed to come to her. Feeling guilty for her struggle, I admitted that I was only joking. She was so relieved that her eyes literally welled up with tears as she laughed. It was just "the funniest thing" she had ever heard. She HAD to run and tell the others what I had said. And right then and there, I was named "the funny one".

Don't get me wrong. I don't mind being "the funny one". It's better than being "the smelly one" or "the one that lingers too closely" or "the one that picks her nose when she thinks nobody is watching". But my coworkers have used the dance incident to get a chuckle about 375 times since then. Any time we have a meeting or a special event coming up, it's inevitable that someone will suggest that Allison "prepare a dance" for the occassion.

Renee has even spread rumors of my liturgical dancing skills to our board members and volunteers. She usually does this in front of me...and she'll nudge me and say "Tell 'em, Allison! Tell 'em the story. You guys are gonna love this!" This always leaves me in an awkward position to explain that it was all just a silly, spontaneous joke. For some reason, this seems to confuse non-staff members. Most of them half-giggle politely, pretending to get the humor in the whole thing. But I know that under the surface they think I'm an idiot.