• The drop of tea that broke John’s will to work

    We’ve all been there, right? You know, one of those days where we set ourselves up for a spectacular failure.

    It all started with my bottle of freshly mixed, instant ice tea. First, I picked up the bottle, applying a sudden force. Due to the nature of the force applied to the bottle, it rose from my desk in a relatively rapid manner. The bottle, in turn, applied a similar force to the liquid inside, my freshly mixed instant ice tea. Long before the earth’s gravity applied sufficient force to stop the bottle’s upward motion, I applied a second force to the bottle. Due to the nature of this second force, the bottle changed velocity suddenly, this time moving down back towards my desk. Unfortunately, the bottle was not able to apply sufficient force on the liquid to stop it’s upward motion. This, of course, was due to the cap sitting atop the bottle in an insecure manner. Just as Newton would predict, the liquid continued to travel in the same upward manner, until gravity acted upon it sometime later.

    In case I haven’t made myself clear, I went to shake up my tea – and ended up the only thing that was shook.

    It is true what they say about things that go up, most of the time they do come down. What happens when “it” comes down depends on what “it” is, and where “it” comes down. For all of you out there with a neatness obsession (my wife included); the upside of being disorganized at work is that there is a lot of absorptive materials lying around to soak up stray tea.

    HAA! Take that.

  • News from the front

    Having lived in a housework deficit for three, germ infested, weeks; Cheryl was as eager as an alcoholic in a liquor store. (I am convinced her need for clean is a symptom of an addictive personality, but don’t tell her I said that.)

    “John, would you like to do some mopping this morning?”

    Good thing I wasn’t eating at the time, I might have needed medical attention. Although I was itching to once again prove the age old axiom, “there may be no such thing as a stupid question, but there’s a shit load of stupid answers,” I picked up the mop and did my husbandly duty without further comment.

    Little does she know I’m thinking three moves ahead. I’m banking on this token effort getting me out of one more week of yard work. Keep you fingers crossed,

  • Being sick and all that entails

    The Kauffman Household, version 2.2.1, has all the appeal of an isolation ward. It’s enough to put a smile on all those kids that made fun of me in grammar school. Yes, there’s been a real run on items such as Kleenex and cough drops. It all started with Beth, yes, Beth. Beth spends six or so hours, five days a week at the germ bank, known in some circles as “the public education system.” This month, the most important thing Beth has learned in school is the difference between a good antihistamine and a decongestant. Although Adam gets out about as much as Howard Hughes, he got sick next. Naturally, since they were the first to get sick they had it the easiest, there were a couple of healthy people to take care of them. Now it has spread to the rest of us, and they’re just peachy. Pity my poor wife, the last of our kind to fall ill.

    I was discussing her prospects for tomorrow (five days ago, when I had little inclination to write), and she was rather coy about her work prospects. She said she was sick and didn’t want to work, but she wouldn’t commit. Who would have thought my wife would have a fear of commitment? Perhaps her prior experiences didn’t work out so well? Making matters worse for the ole “D.C.”: our primary baby sitter was in isolation as well. So I asked, “Cheryl, why don’t we just call your mother now and see if she is too sick to watch Adam?” She replies, “Nah, if she calls me tomorrow morning I’ll just stay home.” “Yeah, but you’ll have gotten up early for nothing.” “Like Adam is going to sleep in?” “Well, maybe not; but, you’ll have gotten out of bed, showered and dressed for nothing.”

    For that split second, it was as if I hadn’t lived with this woman for the last ten years. I’m happy as a clam in a two-day-old pair of PJs, and with skin preserved in it’s own natural oils, like an ocean living mammal. Cheryl? Not so much.