Sale Tale......

I am so not suave.
Sophistication doesn't stick to me. Cool, elegant airs of refinement and casual-ness roll off my skin like I'm made of Teflon.
Every sale is like a personal thumbs up from the world at large. Do I raise an eyebrow and smile, subtly. A slight curving of the lips to indicate a general air of pleasure but not so much I seem like I'm desperate and really care?
Nope.
Do I squawk?
Oh, oh yes. Like a chicken. More like a chicken in love on a fine spring day, with bees buzzing and roosters giving me the lecherous eye. I squawk.
"Brawwwwwwwwk"
"What?" Alan looks over, smiles. He's obviously used to my squawking as he hasn't run for a chicken net.
"I sold something!" I try to say it casually but casually has left the building and took all my calm, slow, patient, non-vibrating with joy composure with it.
"Oh wow! Cool!" He's as happy as me, but he doesn't squawk like chicken.
"Brawwwwwwwwwwwk! Ohmygodthat'ssocoolIlovesellingstuff!!!" "That's terrific!"
"Brawwwwwk, brawwwk, brawwwwwk!" My hands shake a wee little bit as a thousand things to do floods my mind. Reply to the buyer, update my inventory, add a sold sign to the store, think about packaging, get a coffee to celebrate, double check my list to make sure I'm not forgetting anything important...but...all of the things that need done are in a log jam in my head, bouncing with childish glee on the nerves connected to my fingers so that my hands hover over the keyboard for what seems like an eternity. "Brawwwk"
Well eternity to an ecstatic, chicken sounding lady.
I need to update my inventory list, first things first but I can't. Every second thunders by, I am sure an hour has passed since I first learned of my latest sale and started transforming into the crafty chicken lady.....I glance at the clock. Alan is walking over to see my sale and I realize his foot is hovering in midair, his mouth is stuck in the same sweet "O" of surprise and supportive happiness. A Ha, times is not thundering by, in fact, it's me. With the beating heart and shaking hands and nervous energy as my brain skips to packaging materials and back to the inventory list.
Do something fingers. DO SOMETHING!
"Brawwwwwk!"
Not that!
"Brawwwk. Alan, I'm sorry I can't be cool about this. I try but......BRAWWWWK BRAWWWWWWWWK, I SOLD SOMETHING!"
Time has returned to normal and my fingers flex. Alan is beside me and we hug, near to bouncing up and down like school children from the 1920's (modern school children do not bounce with childish glee any more, they text message with eerily adult glee)
My heart rate slows and my brain thanks me for the mental jolt, the wild thrill ride that is totally and completely created by me and some stranger from the middle of America who is now my new best friend and they don't even know it.
I update my inventory, I reply to the buyer and my words are so succinct and articulate on the screen that you'd never know I was squawking like a chicken moments ago.
Except...
You do, cause I had to share. The reality of me is a chicken squawking person who doesn't have an ounce of placidity to her name.
I make stuff.
People buy it.
I squawk like a chicken.
You gotta love this world.