Tub Mishaps and Marital Wonkiness

I'll just start by talking about myself. (I think this is a big emotional breakthrough, because you know how I hate to do that.) First of all, no one told me that the steroid injections I received on Tuesday would continue to hurt. No truth in advertising in the surgeon's office, it appears. I've definitely felt worse lots of times, so that's not so much a complaint as it is a surprising statement of fact.

I had a little accident last night. It was just before bedtime and I was in the bathroom when (somehow) my foot slipped and I fell backwards into the bathtub. My back ended up on the bottom of the tub and my head landed on the soap dish with a resounding thump. I took a quick inventory and didn't feel like I had a concussion or anything; I was just concerned about how the hell I was going to get out of there. My feet didn't touch any surface at all; my knees were dangling over the top of the tub where there's no foothold to be found. How humiliating. My mom heard the loud thud and came rushing to the door, asking me if I was okay. I had to break the news to her that Humpty Dumpty seemed to be unable to get upright. She helped me get out of the tub and started to get worried about potential physical damage until I reassured her that inventory had been taken and all parts were working just as well as ever.

They're still working just fine. I have a little soreness along the entire right side of my body and my head's a bit tender if I touch it. So I just don't touch it. No vomiting or any other symptoms of concussion. The upshot? You just can not kill me. That's great news because I've been known since my childhood as a huge klutz. I was the kid who wasn't coordinated enough to play kickball with the other kids during that period of physical torture, known as "Physical Education" class or recess, take your pick. (The ball would be coming at me and I'd kick at it, then I'd realize it was still a couple of feet away from me. Try to imagine the hilarity that created for all the other children.) I've been known to walk directly into walls. (I get a little lost in my own thoughts sometimes.) I stumble over grass. Turns out that my history has served me well; I've developed an uncanny ability to both continue to injure myself and still be (relatively) fine if I just take some ibuprofen.

Now on to the fun stuff. Office antics. Loathsome is going to remain with the company, despite his egregiously bad behavior after the accident. I'd like to collect on that bet now. Wonder who I could see about that? I'm fairly certain I put $100 dollars on staying.

Not only does he still have a job at the same rate of pay as always, he's on vacation right now. Vacation. Is there any way in hell that, having screwed up so mightily, I would have the (figuratively speaking) balls to go on vacation? I don't think so.

I told you Owner was going to think keeping Loathsome on would be a much worse punishment than firing him. I see hours and hours of Loathsome's time being spent in Owner's office, listening to Owner read things to him. (Owner likes to write clever emails and fake news stories he then sends to everyone on his email contact list.) Everybody hates it when he isn't satisfied with having us all read the written version and has to call us up and read it to us. He won't have to now; he'll have Loathsome. I believe it's the win-win solution for everyone.

Money Man, or Bible Thumping Hypocrite (as one of my co-workers refers to him) seems to be having some issues on the marital home front. Money Man has "taken a personal stand against homosexuality." That kind of speaks for itself, doesn't it? I mean, how does that work? When gay guys approach him, I guess he plants his feet firmly and intones, "No! I will not have homosexual intercourse with you!" Oh god, if only the marital discord was caused by an affair with a guy he met in his prayer group. It would be so entertaining.

The real issue is that he's not a very good husband, according to his wife. I can only imagine. One of my co-workers and I are constantly amazed anybody would live with him. He watches too much television, for one thing. They never do anything together; that reason is always a crowd pleaser. He said he wasn't surprised. Money Man's wife and he don't have anything in common anymore, he stated, except for the kids. The problem there is that each side picked a fave kid years ago and have stuck with their original choices. Each always seizes upon any infraction of the rules by the other's favorite as an opportunity to rail against that spouse about child-rearing techniques (which encompass just about everything that could possibly go awry in the marriage). Even though the "kids" are in their mid to late twenties now, it's a hard habit to break, a veritable marital war by proxy.

Money Man says he "saw it coming." It's that ominous phrase that makes me think things have really gotten waspish between the two of them. It doesn't bode well, does it? A friend of Money Man's wife died this week in a different city. He's lobbying for her to go to the funeral so he can get her the hell out of the house and watch the NBA playoffs in peace. I'm with him on the playoff thing. I'd try to get her out of town, too. Nothing like your spouse wanting to do things with you when Phoenix is getting ready to play L.A. in 5 minutes. In the playoffs.

On the other hand, if I were the wife, I'd use absolutely any excuse to be anywhere other than with him. Maybe that's just me, though. It's entirely possible that she's become so inured to his general nasty temperament and rampant negativity that she doesn't even recognize it anymore. And she did say they should spend more time together. Maybe she should see a doctor about this.

There's so much more office entertainment to catch you up on, but I remember reading that blog posts are supposed to be short so people will read them. So I guess I should get around to the other stuff later. And who knows? Maybe I'll have a close encounter with some other immovable object in my house. (Oh wait...I have to knock on the oak-like particle board I call my desk.)

Now who do I need to talk to about that $100 bet?