My husband claims to have a job. I’m beginning to suspect that he’s not being truthful. Why? you might ask. Well, let me tell you about a recent conversation we had over dinner just the other night. Here’s how the conversation went:
“Hey, honey. How was your day?” I ask like a good wife.
“Okay, except for… well… I hesitate to say,” Hubby responds.
“Why? What happened?” I say, concern evident in my voice.
“Nothing bad, but you know… we have this, uh, pool table in the break room.”
“A pool table? Are you kidding me?” I answer, turning less sympathetic to his cause.
“No, I’m serious. Well, I was playing pool today during my lunch hour, and the air conditioning was terrible in the break room. It was so humid in there. And to top it off, there was only one cue stick for all of us to use.”
Well, you can imagine the look of utter disgust that washed over my face as I contemplated his “discomfort”, weighing it against my imminent return to school with unmotivated middle school students, hundreds of papers to grade, and 3o – minute lunch breaks. Hmm. Yeah, I was feeling all sorts of sympathy for him then. So I come back with a remark that can only be construed as sarcastic.
“Oh, you poor dear! I suppose the massage room had the same issue, as well?” He laughs at the ridiculous assumption that they had one of those. Then I truly realize what he has said.
“Wait a minute! You were playing at work? You were having FUN at work? What’s up with that? Nobody has FUN at work! Do you really have a job?”
Okay folks, he really does have a job. He busts his tail all day long, so lunch hours and breaks are a time to let loose, and boost energy levels back up for greater productivity. It’s a great job, actually. I mean, how many of us get to go to work and play games on break and have loads of fun team-building? Not many, I’m sure. So, as I simmer in my Sorry For Myself Stew, I really am thrilled for him. After all, a happy Hubby is a happy home.