On the Job

I stepped on a hard plastic toy headed into the bathroom.

"Ouch!" and "Damn!" came to mind as I looked down to see what it was.

Hey! That sorta looks like me! If I were a Little Person that is. And by that I mean Fisher Price, not the p.c. term for a dwarf. Although I am related to a dwarf by marriage. But anyway... 

Cell phone in hand. Short cropped do. Flip flops. And I haven't determined if that lunchbox is filled with Craisins and pretzels or if it's her Madela Pump In Style. On closer inspection I'm not entirely sure it's a female, to tell you the truth. And her shirt looks like she just got home from some spicy tropical vacation. 

No, definitely not me, just another occupational hazard that comes with the job. Do you have any idea what the OSHA handbook would look like for a Domestic Operations Manager? And sick days? No sick days. The benefits package is payed out in handprints and jelly globs. In my case, scrubbing toothpaste off the bathroom door.

I'm on my fifth day of nursing a cold. I think I could just kick it if I could stay in bed and sleep whenever I felt like it. And after months of months of tedious work and wishful thinking, Porkchop learned to nurse the same day he was weaned. It lasted two short minutes, until the little piranha about took it off! Worker's Comp Claim, anyone? Nuh uh.

I asked my 99 year old patient last week what her secret was. "Change husbands often and don't have kids." She was emphatic about it.

I am 0 for 2. But who wants to live that long without them anyway? This is the hardest, lowest paid, most hazardous job in the world, I'll tell you what. And I signed up for it. Even if it kills me.