I didn't "meme" it that way!

I'm not sure when I became the self-appointed Morale Meme Maker for my school...oh, who am I kidding?  I know EXACTLY when I became the self-appointed Morale Meme Maker for my school. But the when and whys aren't really all that important though, are they? Particularly when they end up making me appear peevishly small and immature. Let's instead focus on the incident at hand...where I was heartlessly betrayed by a trusted friend and colleague in this, my greatest moment of need.

Starting back in September, I have made it my life's MISSION to build up, cheer up, or shut up my colleagues with fun, inspirational memes. I spend excruciating HOURS, agonizing over proper phrasing, deliberating long into the night for just the right balance of picture-to-word ratio. I strive to ironically mirror our lives in meme. And for the most part, I fancy that I'm pretty successful. The "Banksy" of my time.

Except...

Maybe I was over-tired. Maybe my Zumba workout had been overly strenuous. None of that matters. There really wasn't any excuse. I dropped the ball. My appropriateness meter had somehow missed its mark.

I remember debating the merits of this specific meme. It definitely fulfilled my first criteria of making me laugh out loud but sometimes that could be a BAD thing. The meme in question was also a meme-of-reflection, causing the viewer to pause and ponder. But my gut...also known as The Holy Spirit...wasn't having it. But, as usual, when faced with any moral quandary, I kicked my conscience to the curb and dismissed it as acid reflux. I posted my newly-printed set of memes and, striding confidently to my truck, cried out, "Amy has left the building!"

It wasn't until I made the turn onto my road that I gasped in horror. Pretty sure that the Holy Spirit smirked in smug satisfaction. Told you so, my tummy taunted. The meme that I had thought was just a little naughty...oh no.

I sat in my drive-way, mentally scrolling through the list of trusted friends who might still be at work. My list exhausted, I begrudgingly emailed the one person that I knew could help me. But would he? It took him an aggravating hour to answer me. "I was coaching a game," he said defensively. I cannot believe that I was pinning my hopes on a guy with such a messed-up set of priorities. When he did FINALLY get around to helping me, he admitted that it took him a minute or two to determine which one of my posted memes was the culprit; a ridiculous notion because most of my memes are sophisticated and intellectually-stimulating.

Whew...now that the meme was no longer mounted on the wall, I could relax. My husband, of course, thought that I was blowing things out of proportion. "I just wouldn't want to rub anyone the wrong way," I told him.