Rosie Labrun is a lot of things: a college student on the cusp of graduation; an intern for the Portland Pirates, a romance novel connoisseur; and the most recent addition to her resume...the girlfriend of a professional athlete.
She won't let it d...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The first thing that I do when I enter the arena, is go to the restroom. Not because I have a small bladder; or wanna make sure I don't look like I was just tongue-wrestling with my boyfriend - a few minutes ago. No, the reason for my visit to the land of cheap toilet paper and empty soap dispensers, is a desire to examine my stomach.
Looking in the mirror, I do the same thing I always do - look from the front, look from the side, look from the other side. I just don't turn around, because this isn't some perverted version of the Cha-Cha slide. Instead, it's a self-diagnostical version of a full-body exam; the end goal, the same as it has been since I found out I was carrying a tiny-being in my body - making sure that nobody knows I am.
As an extra precaution, I've even began wearing a giant zip-up hoodie over all of my work clothes. It's branded TD Arena; is a men's extra-large; and looks like it could swallow me whole. Whenever I wash my hands while I'm wearing it, I have to juggle between keeping the sleeves rolled up and making sure the front of it doesn't dip into the sink.
And although I usually find it to be the most unflattering piece of clothing that even a Munk would be turned off by, my bun-carrying has caused me to find a sense of comfort in it.
Once my hoodie's draped over my body - my coat safely secured over it, I grab my bag and head into the lion's den. What usually is a quiet place filled with only occasional chatter of office gossip and bitching about the team, has turned into something reminiscent of Santa's throw-up, over the past week.
There are baked goods everywhere: on my desk; on the filing cabinets; in the fridge. One of the full-time custodians was a baker by trade - and every Christmas, goes out of her way to feed the entire operations and marketing departments.
Which is rather surprising, because she's one of the least cheerful people I've ever met. Every time I talk to her, it's like a new family member has died; or gotten cancer; or refused to go to rehab. I maintain our friendly conversations because I want to develop a repour with her, but I'd be lying if I said I haven't turned the other way when I saw her talking to someone nearby.
But apparently the holiday season is when she decides to vomit out all her positive energy into a ray of sunshine - which comes in the form of brownies; cheesecakes; and pretty much any other baked good that's guaranteed to make you gain ten pounds.
"Rosie!" Brent exclaims, seeming oddly excited to see me - though, that could just be the rush of sugar flowing through his veins. Despite his constant announcements of eating healthy and going to the gym, he's currently stuffing his face with what appears to be a variety of chocolate chip brownies.
He's in a good mood now, but I expect in ten minutes when Danielle mentions a budget that got cut; or an issue that needs to be fixed, he'll be cussing out a storm like he usually is.
Robert, the building's operations supervisor, is sitting in my chair, chatting with the others whilst getting cake crumbs all over my desk. When he notices me, he gets up and grabs his cup of coffee - resetting the calendar of last time since someone left a coffee ring on my desk, back to zero.
