Calling In Sick....
A Cat Owner's Story Calling In Sick To Work Makes Me Uncomfortable Because
No Matter How Legitimate My Illness, I Always Sense My Boss Thinks I Am
Lying.
Calling in Sick....
A Cat Owner's Story Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable because
no matter how legitimate my illness, I always sense my boss thinks I am
lying. On one occasion, I had a valid reason but lied anyway because the
truth was too humiliating to reveal. I simply mentioned that I had sustained
a head injury and I hoped I would feel up to coming in the next day. By
then, I could think up a doozy to explain the bandage on my crown. In this
case, the truth hurt. I mean it really hurt in the place men feel the most
pain. The accident occurred mainly because I conceded to my wife's wishes to
adopt a cute little kitty. As the daily routine prescribes, I was taking my
shower after breakfast when I heard my wife call out to me from the kitchen.
"Ed!" she hearkened. "The garbage disposal is dead. Come reset it." "You
know where the button is." I protested through the shower (pitter-patter).
"Reset it yourself!" "I am scared!" She pleaded. "What if it starts going
and sucks me in?" Pause. "C'mon, it'll only take a second." No logical
assurance about how a disposal can't start itself will calm the fears of a
person who suffers from "Big-ol-scary-machinephobia," a condition brought on
by watching too many Stephen King movies. It is futile to argue or explain,
kind of like Lloyd Bentsen telling Americans they are over-taxed. And if a
poltergeist did, in fact, possess the disposal, and she was ground into
round, I'd have to live with that the rest of my life. So out I came,
dripping wet and buck naked, hoping to make a statement about how her
cowardly behavior was not without consequence but it was I who would suffer.
I crouched down and stuck my head under the sink to find the button. It is
the last action I remember performing. It struck without warning. Nay, it
wasn't a hexed disposal drawing me into its gnashing metal teeth. It was our
new kitty, clawing playfully at the dangling objects she spied between my
legs. She ("Buttons" aka "the Grater") had been poised around the corner and
stalked me as I took the bait under the sink. At precisely the second I was
most vulnerable, she leapt at the toys I unwittingly offered and snagged
them with her needle-like claws. Now when men feel pain or even sense danger
anywhere close to their masculine region, they lose all rational thought to
control orderly bodily movements. Instinctively, their nerves compel the
body to contort inwardly, while rising upwardly at a violent rate of speed.
Not even a well-trained monk could calmly stand with his groin supporting
the full weight of a kitten and rectify the situation in a step-by-step
procedure. Wild animals are sometimes faced with a "fight or flight"
syndrome; men, in this predicament, choose only the "flight" option. Fleeing
straight up, I knew at that moment how a cat feels when it is alarmed. It
was a dismal irony. But, whereas cats seek great heights to escape, I never
made it that far. The sink and cabinet bluntly impeded my ascent; the impact
knocked me out cold. When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood over me.
Having been fully briefed by my wife, the paramedics snorted as they tried
to conduct their work while suppressing their hysterical laughter. My wife
told me I should be flattered. At the office, colleagues tried to coax an
explanation out of me. I kept silent, claiming it was too painful to talk.
"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" If they had only known.
W H Y C O P S H A T E Y O U <<<<&l <
-if you have to ask get out of the way-
Have you ever been stopped by a traffic cop and, while he was
writing a ticket or giving you a warning, you got the feeling that
he would just love to yank you out of the car, right through the
window, and smash your face into the front fender?...
