Tantrum Warehouse
Tact Free Since 2003

Clockwork Falls

I would like to just forget about yesterday altogether.

At work I spent all day arguing a very silly and industry specific problem with my boss. We will call this patting the bunny.

A couple of months ago I told my boss we should not promise the bunny we could pat him in this time frame. That it might be possible to pat the bunny but it was unlikely. And if we just told the bunny he could be pat for the new year he would either be happy or get a plan B. But my boss said, "make it happen."

Not surprisingly the bunny did not get pat in a timely manner. And now we have an angry bunny who is calling my boss asking about the patting.

And the boss comes in and says "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THAT IT WOULD BE A PROBLEM TO PAT THE BUNNY!?!?!"

That I said those very words was lost on him. And my day was spoiled.

No bunny was hurt during this process though.
Then I was walking down through the basement of a shi-shi department store to get to the bus and I missed a stair. And landed on my face. With a big CRACK since the floor was made of hard tile. In men's fine fragrance.

I wanted to just lie there. Possibly for a few hours after which everyone would leave and stop looking at me and I might be able to get up and no one would have seen what happened.

But of course, that didn't happen. I told J that if I had a bruise this morning I was telling everyone that he hit me--that is way less embarassing then what really happened. Fortunately, no bruise.
And then when we did finally get home we see these VERY LARGE boxes on our front stoop.

Cue the chimes of DOOM.

We know the boxes are from his dad. And we know this means that he has ignored our urges to "not get us anything" or "send cash" and has instead purchased us something very ugly, useless and probably expensive.

Judging by the boxes, also HUGE.

The first box was full of large and bright red luggage. While we already have luggage, and also never travel, this is nice enough. We can stash this in a closet. Or even donate it to charity. It is a fine gift.

The second box is a different story. It has a nasty, ugly, brass plated, cheap-looking grandfather clock (that you have to put together yourself!) in it.

He has been to our house. He knows that we don't have space for this. And if he looked around he would probably also know that we would rather die than have something like this in our house.

But what can we do? This is not something that he won't notice if it isn't out. And I am not putting it out. And we can't send it back, as he bought it from some sweepstakes catalogue. I wish we could send it back, I hate that he spent so much money on something that we will never use and hate so much.

And god knows that charity doesn't want the damn thing.

But it feels mean. I mean, he was trying and he did the best that he could.

In other words, we are totally screwed. Either we have to live with this ugly goddamn thing that will eventually drive us to suicide. Or we have to hurt the man's feelings.

At this point, I am not sure which is a better option.

The clock is really fucking ugly.
So we are forgetting about yesterday. Today will be better. I will eat a pop tart and be lazy and just get the bare minimum of work done.

And then go home. And not clean my house even though it is a pit and really needs it.

It has to be better than yesterday.

9:09 a.m. :: comment ::
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