It's Monday morning and I've got a dark cloud over me today. I think I'm worse than Friday and this time I don't have a monster poop to write about.
Speaking of monster poops, what was up with last week and everyone being inspired to write about their most magnificent poops of all time? It was as if some evil FBI plot was hatched with some new machine to influence everyone on the blog to write about poo.
Something occurred to me this morning as I was walking in from the parking lot. All of that research and hard work to determine what scent women want on a man was for nothing. Do you want know why?
I'll just pretend I can hear you and you are saying, "Yes, Mr. Memphis, tell me why."
Because from June to September in lugly Memphis, Tennessee by the time you've parked your car and walked into the office building you are already sweaty enough to negate the whole thing. That's right, in the time it takes me to go from my little minitruck to the front door of this building I have sweated enough to ruin $50 worth of Chrome cologne or Old Spice body wash or Lever 2000 soap or whatever women prefer a man smell like.
"But Memphis, one little sweat doesn't wash it all away does it?" Again you talk to me from out of nowhere. This is creepy.
Anyway, one little sweat doesn't smell lovely, but it's true that it isn't enough to totally ruin the effect I'm going for, which is to cause women I work with to run like mad stalkers after me in hopes they can inhale the fumes of whatever I smell like.
No, it's the second sweat that kills it. See, it's only going to get hotter and more humid as the day goes on. At some point I'll have to go outside again. Or the secretary will ask me to move some boxes. Or someone will say the word "layoff." And then comes the second sweat. This is where it gets ugly. This is where I start to stink like an old sock. And not just any old sock. Not Heather Graham's pretty old sock, but maybe Mike Tyson's old sock. Yeah, Mike Tyson's "you got your ass beat by a white boy" sock. And that don't smell pretty, LET ME TELL YOU.
So there is my dilemma. Well, there is some of my dilemma. There is a lot more on my mind than that, but the rest of it would be totally boring and useless to you so I won't mention it. Yes, even when I call you, or maybe you called me and I can't remember? Either way, I don't know how to explain it over the phone or on my blog, so be glad for that. Plus, My Wife was sitting right there going "Who is that on the phone" and it suddenly occurred to me that she doesn't know who you are. And I was glad you called me. Or I called you. I had more I wanted to say.
Yes, it was that kind of weekend. You know those weekends where the wife suddenly wants to have sex out of the blue and then afterwards she's all "you probably got me pregnant and if I'm pregnant I'm going to die and you'll be sorry" and all that? And every other minute she's a different person? She's up. She's down. What the hell is she talking about? Yeah, well aren't those the most fun weekends a man can have? Not.
Speaking of chaos, my Mother-In-Law, the elder Mouth of the South, was mistakenly told that we are going to Florida for a week this summer. And she, being the sort that she is, decided that what this meant was, we are going to see the Brother-In-Law and take pictures of his new house to send to her for a week this summer. Had I been in this conversation I could have said, "no, we are going to the beach and no one else but us is welcomed to come along." But unfortunately I wasn't and so she ran all over The Wife during this telephone conversation, as usual. My Wife says she tried to tell The Mother that we are not going to anyone's house during our vacation, but she couldn't get a word in edgewise.
So, the Mother-In-Law called the Brother-In-Law's wife, the younger Mouth-of-the-South, and told her that we are coming, which we are not. Then the younger Mouth-of-the-South called My Wife last night while she was trying to watch a TV show she had waited all weekend to see. You can guess how this turned out. She didn't get to see any of the show because her new Sister-In-Law talked her head off and wouldn't shut up for a second. Also, My Wife has this nasty little habit of not saying, "I can't talk right now so call me later, Bye" and hanging up. Anyway, her new Sister-In-Law informed her that she is so happy we are coming and blah blah blah (fill in other bullshit I couldn't care less about here.) So now My Wife is totally stressed out about this.
What is the purpose of a vacation? To relieve stress. To relax. To get away from the causes of all your stress and high blood pressure.
What has just happened here? The Mother-In-Law has attempted to wreck our only vacation of the year in which My Wife blows off steam and gets her blood pressure back down to healthy levels. And knowing My Wife and how she never stands up to her mother she will inform me at some point that we are going to her brother's house even though it totally stresses her out, interferes with our vacation plans, and was never agreed to by either one of us. At this point I can either be The Bad Guy and refuse to go or call the Mother-In-Law myself and tell her that we are not going even though I know that she will be furious with me, tell the Brother-In-Law that it is all my doing because I won't LET My Wife go see his house and then he'll call me and scream because he's in the Navy and by God he knows everything even though he's only 25.
My Wife, meanwhile, will side with Her Mother and never once stand up for me or herself. She will instantly switch sides and declare that it is no big deal to go to Her Brother's new house. She will deny ever having said otherwise. I will be alone on this. I am sick of this.
And this isn't even the dark cloud I'm already dealing with. Such a lovely day I'm having.
You have read this article with the title Monday Morning. You can bookmark this page URL http://thebohemianbunny.blogspot.com/2005/06/monday-morning.html. Thanks!
