Workplace Shenanigans

I generally try to avoid putting much stuff about work on here, because, let's face it, we try to present some sort of almost professional façade to the people we deal with.  If they knew the truth about the ridiculous things that happen here, we'd be screwed.  But, this little email exchange with one of the guy's wives was just too awesome not to share.

Said co-worker has been complaining about this hideous place on his back for weeks now.  It could be nothing, it could be life threatening ... he's taking the ignore it and hope it goes away approach.  But he always mentions it when he thinks about it.  Thus the following email exchange took place this morning:

 
Me:     Your husband has a festering wound on his right shoulder blade area.  Possibly a
           spider bite.  It's been there for like 3 weeks now, and it's not going away.  He
           forgets to say something to you every day, but is now harboring resentment that
           you haven't somehow magically cured it.  Because he's an idiot.

           So, if you think about it this weekend, take a look at it, possibly poke at it with

           something sharp and pain causing, and then slap some Neosporin on that bad boy. 

           Otherwise I might have to resort to office surgery … and I have been dying to try

           that for YEARS.

Co-Worker's Wife:     Ha! Feel free to perform sugery.

Me:     Best news I've had all week! I have been begging for someone to allow me to
          perform home surgery for over a decade.

          And when someone complains of any type of pain or sickness, I've always offered
          to kick them in the knee to make them forget about it ... I've had no takers there
          either.

          This is exciting.  I figure years of hospital and serial killer shows should have me
          well prepared for any procedure necessary.


Co-Worker's Wife:     nice! friday afternoon in house surgery - i love it. let me know if i
                                should bring whiskey to ease the pain before you operate.



This was followed by a message to my co-worker on our interoffice messenger program:

(10:12) Me: your wife just volunteered to bring whiskey to use as anesthesia for surgery this afternoon.  i like her.
(10:18) Co-Worker: tell her not to use my stash

Seriously, most entertaining workplace ever. Happy Friday!

best friend texts ... it's surprising how often dead animals are the topic

Often, I have hilarious conversations via text with my nearest and dearest.  Over the weekend, there was an incident, and it’s developments were documented in text with two of my friends.  And, honestly, both conversations were just too good not to share with the world. 

They have been edited so that they make sense, because there were other things being said in the same conversation on other subjects.  Also, note that when I say I text, what I really mean is that I type short novellas in texts.

 

I humbly present to you all … The Saga of The Frog.

Part 1 (texts between my best friend and I)

Me:        Well.  I picked up what I thought was a big dust bunny on the floor in the hallway.  But no.  Oh, no no no. No dust bunny.  Frog.  Small. Dead. Dust covered frog.  Gross.

BFF:       Wow.

Me:        So …

1.       Where did it come from?

2.       How long has it been here?

3.       How the hell did we not discover it?

4.       Where the hell was it living to get dust covered?

5.       Are there more?

 

It’s a possible frog invasion apocalypse scenario.

BFF:       LOL. It had to be there a bit to be dusty

Me:        It wasn’t totally mummified, but it was partially. I just want to know where it came from.  It wasn’t there for long or someone would have stepped on it.

BFF:       Frogs are the First Plague

Me:        Exactly.

 

 

 

Me:        If I see a locust, I am out of here.

 

Me:        I need specifics on how it came into the hall … I’m thinking that the band of woodland creatures building a doomsday device in the attic left it as a warning.

BFF:       Was it wearing a little helmet or a saddle?

BFF:       Did you find small spears?

Me:       And that there is exactly why I love you

              No spears, but I didn’t examine it closely enough to verify a saddle.

And it’s possible I may have screamed, hurled it down the hall, returned to ouch it up with a hand mitt of toilet paper, and then gone to and eaten four chewable Peptos. Maybe.

Me:      Ouch it up.  I like that.  I meant pick it up.  Though it was psychologically painful.

BFF:       I’ll try to come over later and help solve the mystery.

Me:        POF said he probably stepped on it in the garage and it came in on his boot. Yuck

BFF:       That’s gross.

Me:        Yes it is.

 

                I’m considering implementing a “you must strip naked in the garage before entering the 

                house” rule.

                Just for POF … cause it would be really weird otherwise.

BFF:       LOL yes, and it’s not in effect if company is there.

Me:        *Awkward*

 

Part 2 (texts between me and my dear friend who LOVES frogs, bless her heart)

Obviously, I copied and pasted some of my statements from the first conversation.  Partly because they are just funny, and partly because I am just too lazy to retype the entire thing again.  Don’t fix what isn’t broken and all that …

 

Me:       Well.  I picked up what I thought was a big dust bunny on the floor in the hallway.  But no.  Oh, no no no. No dust bunny.  Frog.  Small. Dead. Dust covered frog.  Gross.

CW:         Oh no!!! Poor froggy.  L

Me:        Naturally, I thought of you.

                Which, in hindsight, was probably a poor choice

 

CW:         He probably just needs some water and he’ll be fine.

Me:        Yes, I am sure that’s it.  I was just headed out to purchase a nice aquarium habitat for the

                nice lint covered, half mummified frog.

CW:         LOL.  Was it the frog part or the dusty part or the dead part that made you think of me?  J

Me:        Frog part

                Probably shouldn’t have mentioned the other parts

CW:         You can call him Fuzzy Wuzzy  J

                Minion will love his new pet!

Me:        He certainly can’t hurt it

CW:         See? There’s a positive already!!  J

Me:      Though it’s possible I may have screamed, hurled it down the hall, returned to pick it up with a  hand mitt of toilet paper, and then gone to eat four chewable Peptos. Maybe.

CW:         Hahahaha!!!

Me:      I need specifics on how it came into the hall … I’m thinking that the band of woodland creatures building a doomsday device in the attic left it as a warning.

CW:         So he’s already swimming … (I take this to mean she assumes I flushed him)

Me:        In a sea of trash

CW:         "First the frog. You’re next lady."

Me:        Pretty much.  They are diabolical.

CW:         He probably tried to defect to warn you and, well, curtains for him.

Me:        Good point

CW:       Be on the lookout for more dust bunnies.  If they start appearing bigger and bigger, that’s the WC Gang building their trap for you.

Me:        I’m thinking we might just have to abandon the house and seek shelter elsewhere.

CW:         Good call.

                I’d say to quit cleaning so you don’t get ensnared, but that just gives them bigger ammo.

                They’re coming for you.

Me:        Let’s not kid ourselves … I quit cleaning years ago.

CW:       That’s what did it! You gave them the perfect ammo!! If that’s the case, I’m doomed here too.

             There’s not gonna be a zombie apocalypse. It’s gonna be a Woodland Creature Dust Bunny Apocalypse!!

             They’re laying out traps everywhere!

             Those of us without OCD are screwed …

Me:      HA!

I think I need to take a nap so I’ll be better prepared.

CW:         Another good call. I’m right there with ya.

 

The end.

Just another day in my wacky life. (sarcasm on)

POF is my one true loooooooove.

So, it’s anniversary week in the Haus of Eville.  Seven years of wedded bliss.  Even more impressive is twenty years together.  I have officially been with POF for over half my life.  Amazing.  I don’t do the mushy ooey gooey stuff much, and you won’t find me posting my undying love for him on Facebook anytime soon.  But, it’s a milestone and one that deserves recognition.

See, the thing is … he’s a Scorpio.  So he ends up being a self-centered ass sometimes, without even trying.  The world revolves around his schedule.  And 85% of the time, I am totally okay with that.  He’s a musician so half of his brain is always occupied with a melody or a lyric or something band/music related.  He spends a lot of time on music, and that leaves not a lot of time for me and the Minion sometimes.  And that’s okay.  Because he’s an amazing musician and it’s just part of who he is. But it’s been a long 20 years.

Marriage is hard.  Relationships are hard.  We’ve had our good times, and we have had our share of bad.  We started out as kids together.  Made the college journey.  Entered the young twentysomethings getting their first place together phase.  And now we are the old married couple with the kid.  It’s been quite the adventure.

We’ve had the band road trips and the staying up all night.  We’ve had the sex, drugs, and rock n roll.  And we’ve had the downward spirals.  We’ve dealt with loss and grief and anger and addiction.  We’ve built a lot of memories and made a lot of mistakes.  But we are still here, still together, and remarkably, we still actually like each other. Sometimes for several days in a row.

He can make me madder than anyone I have ever known.  No one pushes my buttons like he does.  We’ve had some crazy arguments over the years.  Never ever anything physical toward each other, but there has definitely been some loss of property over the years.  Apparently, no one else can make him quite as mad as I can.  Imagine that.

But he loves me for me.  He doesn’t care if I am a size 8 or a size 20, he still thinks I am beautiful.  He makes me laugh like no one else can.  He gets my warped sense of humor.  He puts up with my nagging.  He loves my wacky family.  And when he and the Minion are cuddled up on the couch together, there’s no better sight.  Also, he's always up for watching Star Wars, which in our house could possibly be daily.  He always gets points for that.

Yes, I complain about getting up at 4:30 in the morning to pack his cooler for work.  But I do it.  I don’t have to.  He doesn’t make me.  He could easily do it himself.  But I like making sure he has a good lunch and writing him a little note to leave on top for him to read before he leaves.  Granted, most Wednesday morning notes involve a VERY poorly drawn camel with the words “it’s hump day woot woot!”, but still.

And yeah, I get aggravated because the dishes pile up in the sink as he is apparently incapable of putting them in the dishwasher.  But then I remember that even if he does put them in there, it’s still not the way that *I* put them in there, so I will just reload it anyway.  And honestly, after seeing me do that a few times, I can see why he would stop attempting it.

And just when I get to the best part of the book, of course that’s when he decides he wants to talk to me about something.  But then, I always need to discuss important (or very unimportant) things with him when football is on, so it balances out.  There may or may not be a correlation there.  I admit nothing.

There are times when I have questioned our relationship, wondered if it was worth it.  Been tired of his bullshit.  But even on the worst day, I have never been able to imagine my life without him in it.  It’s just not possible.  So as much as I might gripe and complain, the truth is, I love the man more than breath.  He’s the peanut butter to my jelly.  The peas to my carrots.  He may be a pain in the ass, but he’s my pain in the ass, and I’d be lost without him.

 

That’s what makes me hang in there.  Makes me know with every fiber of my being that I am in it for the long haul. Makes me pack that cooler with food that won’t kill him.  Makes me smile when I hear his voice and makes my stomach do that little flutter thing when he walks into a room.  There’s no one else quite like him. And no one else I’d rather spend my life with.

So there.  Mushy gooshy love stuff. It still doesn’t mean that some days I find it a miracle that I haven’t brained him with a frying pan. Here’s to twenty more years of exasperating, exhilarating, odds defying looooove.

hummus addiction is a lifestyle choice, and books, books and MORE BOOKS.

Well, hello there.  Here I am again.  And today I am here to talk about hummus.  And my deep obsession with it. 

I am sitting here right now, typing this, basically as a way to keep from scurrying to the kitchen to attack the hummus in the fridge with rabid enthusiasm.  I have a problem.  I could eat the stuff with a spoon.  A whole container at once.  It's almost scary.  I mean, hummus is healthy, so YAY me.  But, even healthy things can be bad in large quantities.  And that's what I want.  Vats of the stuff.  I may need an intervention.

Now, on to other distracting topics ....

The Minion was getting dressed this morning and he kept going on and on about nickels.  I assumed he was talking about money because he has become quite the little Scrooge McDuck with his penny banks.  But no.  He was referring to his nipples.  Except he calls them nickels.  This sends me into fits of giggles every single time. 

This round of Minion Water Torture has come to a close.  Also known as swim lessons.  We survived the six weeks, and he's still not a swimmer.  This is only his fourth or fifth round.  At this point, I am ready to re-evaluate the swim lesson process and see if maybe we should try another place and perhaps some individual lessons.  He has a strong, DNA coded fear of water ... or rather getting his face wet or going under.  I desperately want to break him of this, but since I totally feel the same way, I really don't know where to go with it.  I am certainly not about to dive in and extol the joys of underwater frolicking.  POF can do that.  I will watch from the shallows, preferably with a book.

Speaking of books.  Ah, books.  I love books.  Books are my true addiction.  I have hundreds.  Maybe over a thousand.  I have a Nook, and I don't mind reading from it.  But nothing compares to the tactile experience of holding a real book in your hands and turning the pages.  I love the smell of a book, or a book store.  It's a thing.

This time of year is always when my book season gears up as my favorites usually release new books about this time of year.  I have a list of release dates and I am always checking the web for updates on more.  I have so many series going now, that I forget what's next or what I need next.  And that is a wonderful problem to have.  I tend to lean toward mystery, and there are so many good series out there, I am continually discovering new treasures.  If mystery is your thing, here are a few series you might wanna check out, cause they are awesome:

Rhys Bowen's Royal Spyness series.  Set in London in the early part of the century.  Georgie is 34th in line to the throne, and she totally bucks the image of the royals.  She's a hoot, and always into something.  Her private teas with the Queen are always entertaining.

Annette Blair's Vintage Magic series.  I am not a fashion girl, and I will admit that most of the high fashion references are beyond me.  But I love her style and descriptions.  And the idea of a funky vintage clothing store with a resident ghost is a treat.

In fact, there are several series that I have read involving a vintage clothing store.  My other favorite is The Witchcraft Mystery series by Juliet Blackwell.

The Sarah Booth Delaney series by Carolyn Haines is fantastic.  Set in the Deep South in a tiny town in MS, Sarah Booth refused to conform to the Daddy's Girl image she was groomed for and runs a PI business with her high fashion Daddy's Girl partner named Tinkie.  Tinkie is the epitome of the Southern Belle, and she is a hoot.

I also love these series that fall more into Urban Fantasy than mystery.  But they hooked me quick and I am dying to read the next in the series:   Black Wings series by Christina Henry; Rachel Morgan (Hollows) series by Kim Harrison; Charley Davidson series by Darynda Jones and the Pepper Martin series by Casey Daniels

I'm also rediscovering my love of the Odd Thomas series by Dean Koontz and can't wait to read the latest release. 

Finally, I love both series by Victoria Laurie, Juliet Blackwell's other haunted home renovation series,  and the series' by Bailey Caites, Heather Blake and Denise Swanson.

And JD Robb's Eve Dallas series.  That would make a fantastic series if it had a giant budget.

I could go on and on and on.  But I will stop.  Mainly because no one wants read endless lists of the books I read.  And also, I've killed enough time to officially go attack the hummus in the fridge.

nom nom nom

QoE wants to be made of money

Conversation that I actually had with my Minion on the way home yesterday ...

QoE:  Spaghetti for dinner tonight

Minion:  I want pepperoni pizza

QoE:  Well, we don't have pepperoni pizza.  We are having spaghetti.

Minion:   Well, then tomorrow I want you to get me pepperoni pizza.

QoE:  I'm not made of money son.

Minion:  Yes, you are.


Oh, if only that were true ...

self analysis reveals ... i have issues. surprise!

Well, it happened again.  I vowed to write more often.  And then I didn’t.  No excuse really.  Just busy and not enough hours in the day. There are so many hilarious stories I would love to share.  But I have a line that I cannot cross.  I never want to make friends or coworkers appear unprofessional, or potentially get someone in trouble with their company – or their company in trouble.  So, no work stories.  And trust me, the world is not a better place for this.  Because some of the stuff that I witness – it’s hilarious.  And horribly inappropriate on so many levels.

So where does that leave me?  Feeling at a bit of a loss.  I could write plenty of things.  I’ve started several post ideas in my head.  But all of them always end up toward the serious, and maybe a little bit heavy.  And that’s not usually what I do.  So I haven’t decided if I should go there or not.  But since I, much like Simba, laugh in the face of danger, I’m gonna run with it and see what happens.  This is what happens when I turn my brain loose to ramble untethered … don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I lurk among the halls of FB way too much.  And I am judgy.  Oh, so very judgy.  I don’t get the people that complain about being so broke, so behind on bills, so poor … yet they are posting pics from a vacation, or showing off the new phone/tv/gaming system/CAR they just got.  Really?  If you are so broke you can’t afford food, then somehow I doubt you can afford a week at the beach in an exotic locale, or a new SUV, or that giant plasma screen.  So – where’s the lie?  Are they really not that broke and just wanting to bitch and moan about nothing?  Or are they really that broke and digging themselves into a larger, deeper, more ridiculous hole by continuing to leave WAY above their means?  Did they win the trip or get an inheritance from a tragic loss or cash in a savings bond?  Does it matter?  And more importantly, why do I care?  Why does it make me so mad when it has zero impact on my life?

We spent the day at my father’s house on Sunday.  One of my most traumatic memories as a kid is of him holding me in the pool, counting to three, and then dunking me under the water.  To this day I hate going underwater.  I hate water on my face.  I have water ISSUES.  Seriously.  I can’t even watch Deadliest Catch without almost hyperventilating.  Yet, there we were, in the pool, with my Minion.  A Minion who seemingly proves that water issues are passed via DNA because he hates having his face wet and freaks at the idea of going under.  I try really hard to shield him from my water issues so that he doesn’t have them because of me.  I go out of my way to show him that I love water.  I am happy in the water.  I am practically sprouting gills in front of the kid.  But there he is having a Major Meltdown over water.  And I found myself telling my father – the man who dunked and traumatized me in my memory – that we should just go ahead and dunk him and get it over with.  Really?  What does that even mean?

It should be noted that POF did in fact hold The Minion and dunk him.  And he freaked for about ten seconds and then he was fine.  In fact, he was better than fine.  After that he willingly used the swim ring, and happily dog paddled around without assistance.

I am not a drinker.  I just really don’t like the taste.  And I am one of those rare birds that doesn’t really get the warm fuzzy from it.  I am stone cold sober and then puking in a bush.  There is no in-between.  So, drinking really doesn’t appeal to me.  But it was a holiday weekend and I decided to be wild and out of control.  Ha.  So, I had two drinks at my dad’s house.  I tried one of those strawberry margarita beer drinks and it was not bad.  Beer is repulsive to me, so this was progress.  Then I consumed a frozen Parrot Bay pina colada thingy.  It too was tasty.  There was no warm fuzzy, but there was also no regurgitation, so I consider this a success.  And my father was beyond pleased that I kicked back and had a drink.  The man was elated.  Giddy even.  Somewhere, there is something fundamentally wrong with that I think. 

But seriously, the man was happy.  With me.  And all it took was consuming a couple of alcoholic beverages.  For those that know me and the long rocky relationship with my father, this is hilarious.  Me chugging a six pack with the man could have saved YEARS of angst.

I have a slew of friends on Facebook that I really don’t interact with.  But there are a few that I have reconnected with and it’s been wonderful.  This past weekend, I actually hung out with one of them.  We went to elementary school together, but haven’t seen each other really since about sophomore year of high school.  That, my friends, is a long damn time.  And it was awesome.  It was like no time had passed.  She was every bit as funny and kind and cool as I remembered.  But a lot of time had passed, and a lot of things about us had changed.  We didn’t dwell on the bad, and she spoke of her things in passing without a lot of detail.

And I realized something.  I had no idea.  I saw her in the halls.  I talked to her.  I considered her a friend.  And yet, I really didn’t know her at all.  And that got me thinking.  Would I have done anything different if I had known some of those things back then?  Would I have tried harder to stay in touch with her? Would I have tried to help?  Would it have made me not want to be her friend?  Should I have noticed these things?  Should I have seen signs?  Should I have been a better friend?

I don’t know.  I was a teenager too, with my own host of problems and ordeals to go through.  I was too wrapped up in my own stuff to really notice anyone else’s stuff.  I just recently realized that I pretty much spent the years between junior year of high school and senior year of college on autopilot, with pretty much a total emotional disconnect.  I have memories, but they are vague and fragmented.  I went through the motions.  I played the part.  But I was totally closed off.  No one got in.  No one really knew what was in my head.  Not even my best friend at the time.  I don’t know why.  I mean, I know reasons.  But in the grand scheme of things – compared to what my friend dealt with – I had it pretty perfect. 

So what was my deal?  Why was I so closed off?  Why do I have huge gaps of just nothing at all in my memory?  Why did I go through most of college on total emotional lockdown, going to class, going through the motions, but not really being engaged with the world?  I have no idea.  It bothers me sometimes.  I honestly do not really remember most of college.  I pretty much went to class and nothing else.  I didn’t do activities or engage in groups and stuff?  None of those strong bonds for life that people talk about.  The only connection I have from college is my roommate from my first year.  One person.  That is not normal.  And I was 100 percent sober.  No drugs or alcohol for this girl.  So, WTF?  It baffles me.

I can distinctly remember one thing from my junior year.  That was the last year I did color guard with the band.  Guard was something that I enjoyed doing.  Something I loved even.  But I can remember that year, going to games and just not really being there -  in the reality of it.  Doing preshow stuff, going into the bleachers, curling up under the pressbox and just zoning out.  I wasn’t really asleep.  But I was also not really conscious.  I was aware enough to get moving when it was time to go down and get set for the half time show.  And I performed.  Then I came off that field and went back to the stands and zoned out again until the game was over.  And I have no idea why.  Social interaction in a group like that has never been my strong suit, but I just had zero ability to interact with the world at that point in time.  It kinda freaks me out if I dwell on it.

I also realized that I have never been a group person.  I never wanted to be a part of a group.  I mean, in my head, sometimes, it would be nice to have that big group of girlfriends to do stuff with.  But the actual mechanics of that is just beyond me.  I am more of a one on one kind of girl.  I can go through my school years and pretty much name the one friend from each year.  Some over a couple of years, but for the most part it was always one friend at a time.  And there was never really any specific reason that we stopped being friends.  Just growing up, finding other interests, moving apart.  No big falling out or dramatic scenes.  Just life.

I wonder sometimes if I should have clung harder to some of those friendships.  Made more effort to stay connected as time moved on.  Or if that is just the natural progression of things.  Like the ebb and flow of the tide.  People pass in and out of your life when you are in need of them, and they of you.  Is it really that simple to explain?

I do know that I have reconnected with two friends from my elementary school days.  Friends that I loved dearly as a kid, made fantastic memories with for a while, and then drifted away from slowly over time.  Finding them again has been wonderful.  Sharing our journeys from then to now, the ups and downs and all the in-betweens.  Watching our kids play together.  Finding new common ground.  Building a new friendship as adults.  Appreciating the memories we have together and how we have changed in so many ways yet still have so much in common.

I have a small circle of friends.  And for the most part they never really share the same space at the same time.  I am still very much a one friend at a time kind of girl.  But I am working on it, getting better at being in a group.  And I love bringing some of the old friendships back into that circle.  Still one at a time, but eventually, maybe, as a group.  If I can manage it.  Baby steps.

The requested one where I break down my ridiculousness by the minute.

By popular demand ...

Have you ever wondered what happens at the Haus of Eville?  Generally, while we are always on the lookout for potential plots of world domination, things are pretty mundane.  Laundry, dishes, lawn work.

Granted, I am pretty sure the sink is possessed by some sort of evil enchantment that makes the dirty dishes reproduce while we sleep.  And we have broken two lawn mowers in two weeks, leading me to suspect that another evil enchantment also controls our grounds.  That combined with excessive rain in the last two weeks has left us contemplating if a heard of goats might somehow be incorporated into our lawn care regimen.

But for the most part - same old routine.  However, once in a while you get a day that just throws you for a loop.  I had one of those this morning.  So, I give you How My Day Started.  You're welcome.

4:15 AM  Alarm goes off.  I wake up, alone.  Interesting.  Wonder why the minion got up in the middle of the night and went to sleep in his bed with the husband.  Head to kitchen to pack husband’s cooler for the day.

4:16 AM  No cooler.  Head outside to get cooler from car in tshirt and underwear. 

4:17 AM  Standing in driveway, in tshirt and underwear, realize that husband drove truck.  Truck is locked.  Head back inside to get keys.  Spend two minutes rummaging through pants pockets in the floor, looking for keys.  Head back outside.

4:20 AM  Truck is parked in grass.  Open passenger door from driveway and realize cooler is behind driver’s seat.  This will involve a trek through the wet grass in the dark.  Yay.  Still in underwear and tshirt.  Do not care.

4:23 AM  Survived trip around truck in wet grass (ew ew ew).  Start to open truck door and realize that OMG I have to pee.  And I am going to pee, whether I like it or not, in 3-2-1.

4:23 AM  Immediately drop panties and crouch into peeing in the wild position.  Unleash torrent of urine into yard.  (Note – I am now half naked with my ass hanging out for the world to see.  Note that I live on a main road with a 50 MPH speed limit.  I still do not care.  Thank sweet baby Jebus that no one drove by, even though it was still pitch black outside and no streetlights.  My giant white ass is a beacon)

4:24 AM  Realize that I now must balance myself on the square inch of ground that my left foot covers so as not to accidentally step in the pee area … which I can’t really see for sure since it’s DARK outside. Begin to obsess about possible pee contamination.  Retrieve cooler.

4:26 AM  Make lunch and pack cooler

4:30 AM  Head back to bedroom.  Absently wonder again why the minion went to sleep with husband.  Sit down on side of bed to check feet for possible traces of yard pee (negative). 

4:31 AM.  Wet spot.  Now know answer to why minion left bed to go sleep with husband.  Strip bed.  Spray mattress.  Take sheets to washer and start load.  Return to bedroom, flipping on lights and mumbling obscenities about loved ones under my breath.

4:33 AM  Turn more lights on.  Get sheets from dresser at end of hallway.  Slam drawer, sigh a lot.  Loudly.  Mutter and curse.  Loudly.  Remake bed, as loudly as possible.  Extra drawer banging for effect.

4:35 AM   NO ONE NOTICES

4:45 AM   Still no one stirs.  Give up, turn off lights, mutter some more hateful things toward my beloved son and husband, climb back into clean, dry bed.

4:50 AM Husband’s alarm goes off.  Snooze.

5 AM alarm goes off again.  He gets up.  I fall asleep.

5:45 AM my alarm goes off.  Head to kitchen to put sheets in dryer.  No indication that he noticed my pre-dawn plight.  Shower and carry on.  It’s a miracle I don’t drink a lot.