To my fellow co-workers…
You see, the thing is, all the men were talking. I tried to talk once, and I got shouted down, and so I picked up my sock and zoned out and watched the clock click off twenty minutes between the time I got shouted down and the time the men in the department realized that THE WOMEN HAD STOPPED TALKING. And to their credit, after that, they sort of tried to give us a voice–they’re really not bad guys, nor do they try to be chauvinist prickweenies. Most of the time they’re like all English majors–really freakin’ opinionated and passionate about what they do. But it was too late–by the time our dept. head went, “Uhm, Amy Lane, what do you think about X?” I had already scrawled the following on a spare piece of paper, and I was so proud of it (and the alliteration, thank you all very much) that I just had to share with you all:
Preachy posturing prickweenies
Pissing in the pond.
Whining whistling wankers
Whacking with their wands.
Rotund rebellious regressors
Ripening with wRath.
Turbulent testes terrifying
Tiny egos in their path.
I’m dodging deathly dung-demons
And dying by degrees.
Oh Goddess give me grace and strength.
Somebody help me. Please.
*snork* Okay. I’m all over it now…
And now, a word or two about the pictures from last night:
1. I don’t think Chicken ever used that toothbrush again…the cat likes chewing on it way too much.
2. The Cave Troll slept in that dragon suit last night (we just got it yesterday) and the only reason I got him out of it this morning was by pointing out it wouldn’t fit in the car seat.
3. Ladybug was so upset at not having her own costume (we will have to find last year’s Elmo under our bed) that Chicken dressed her in a (very!) old fairy princess get up–under her pajama shirt–this morning. I had to explain to the babysitter why she was still wearing pajamas and a (very!) old pink-lame tu-tu. All in all, still sort of precious, or maybe that’s just me:-)
4. Mate has a secret crush on Gordon Lightfoot O’Henry (the gray kitten) because little Henry snuggled up to him on his very first night. Mate was flattered–the kitten got to stay.
5. That box that chicken and the Cave Troll are in is part of a five piece set of collapsible fort pieces that is worth every freakin’ penny. Easy to get out, easy to put away, priceless to watch the little ones make their own little habitrails–I highly recommend one to anyone w/a young-un that must stay in the house because it’s eleventy twelve degrees outside.
And, uhm… that’s about all. Ciou!
I love it. I would love to memorize it and recite it to myself at our next meeting EXCEPT most of the people who speak at our meetings are women. There are men in behavioral health, obviously, but at this moment in time the girls are in charge. I thought having a woman director would increase the warmth of the place. I was wrong. She is not warm and fuzzy but cold and prickly. Hah, prickly! She is very prickly.
I now am officially in awe. Not only do you write wonderful books, raise very cute kids and knit – you compose amazingly entertaining poetry while others would be tearing their hair out or screaming. Do you give lessons?
Love dodging demon dung! Reminds me of here.
My dear, I cherish your wit! Did you really read it out loud? Did anyone (everyone?) laugh?
No reading out loud, no–I just showed it to the girl next to me–who tried really hard not to laugh…
Men are like that — English majors or not. Let me tell you a little secret about the corporate world: the sole purpose for Meetings? So the men can flaunt and prance their Bullshitting Supremacy in front of each other. It’s all talk talk talkity talk lookit me I’m talking aren’t I smart/important/better than you? If you want something to actually HAPPEN at a meeting (as in objectives or statuses to be actually communicated) get a woman to run it. She’ll have everyone out and back to work within 20 minutes.
Posers.