Sit On It

Yesterday my beloved and I both had bad days at work. He works in human resources, which is a thankless place to work, in my opinion. I am in the busiest part of the season for my job, after having missed the first busy part while out on maternity leave. And, as I've already mentioned, I really wish I could spend my days with the little angel instead of the mad dogs at the gates of hell. But, I digress.

When I got home, I immediately went upstairs to the do the accounting for my little company, Piper Group, Inc., which up until about a month ago was my primary job. Unfortunately, when I went back to work, they made me work for The Man, so now I have a W-2 just like all the other schmoes and no longer get to say I'm president of my own company for doing the exact same job. I was rather cranky about having to still do the icky accounting when I don't even get my own logo on the business cards. My husband was cranky about something else. So there he is, standing there in the office complaining, when he decides to dramatically throw himself on the plastic-covered futon. Why is the futon covered in plastic? Because Sybil, the vegan 16-year-old cat, has a bit of incontinence when it comes to said futon. Let me repeat: He decides to dramatically throw himself on the plastic-covered futon. That the cat likes to pee on. You get what happened now, don't you? It took a millisecond for the truth of the situation to set in, then my husband leaped back up from the futon, calling upon the great Egyptian cat gods to banish poor Sybil to the seventh level, or at least fifty feet under the pyramid. Sybil knew to at least hide. I couldn't help myself. Tears started pouring down my face. It was the best thing I'd seen all day.