I Quit!

Do you ever feel like you just can't do your job for one more day?!? Not "will not do," but "cannot do." I feel completely deflated after today's office experience...
Why is it that no one cares to help with a project when they can actually have an impact, but everyone cares passionately about your failures and shortcomings once it is too late to change the situation?

I wish that were rhetorical, but the truth is that I always really want an answer to questions like that. And that, my friend, is 98% of what is wrong with me...

I do sweat the small stuff. I do believe that there is one answer to every problem whereby every person in the universe can be completely satisfied, and I do expect myself to find that answer. Every time. And so, I am destine to one day have my own heart explode out of my chest as I grapple with the question of whether flowered napkins will offend the party guest who suffers from severe hayfever.

Prince Charming better have "high blood pressure" listed among his turn-ons.

Wow, depressing. Um... let me see... funny story, where are you?

Once upon a time, I went to work wearing a fun, new bra--baby blue. I must confess that I was very proud of this recent purchase, as it was my first foray into the wonderful world of underwire. I must also say that my co-workers were impressed with the slimming effect that the new bra had on my figure. You know what they say about pride...

As I was talking with a coworker, I looked down and saw a small white spot on my blouse. Strange, I did not eat anything white for breakfast. When the spot began to dance about my chest in rhythm with my breathing, I was quick to ascertain that it was not a spot at all. Strange, it looked rather like an bit of stray wire poking out from between the buttons on my shirt. Well, I'll be! It was a bit of stray wire poking out between the buttons on my shirt.

No problem, don't sweat the small wires. After the initial shocked scream, I (oh, so subtly) excused myself and stepped into the bathroom where I deftly assessed the situation and determined that there was no way to salvage the wire in the right cup. No problem. I removed the wire from the one side. Unfortunately, the wire on the left side was holding fast and could not be budged. Now, I was a bit off-kilter, but perhaps if I slouched to one side... No problem.

On my way back to my office, I was called away to another, non-lingerie-related work task. Of course, I did not want to be caught with the incriminating evidence, so I threw the C-shaped bit of wire on my desk and buried it under some file folders. No problem.

I did not get as many compliments that afternoon, but I was able to relax, enjoy my work and COMPLETELY FORGET (sorry for the yelling) about my situation. At the end of the day I walked back into my office, ready to pack up and head home. There sat my supervisor at my desk. Now, he was a rather muscular, rather tall, rather bald-in-an-intimidating-sort-of-way African American man, and he was twiddling a rather small, rather C-shaped bit of wire between his fingers. He was not looking at his hands or the remains of my underclothing that he held in them as he carelessly flexed the wire and lectured me about the tidiness of my office.

Just then, a co-worker put her head around the door calling, "Are you ready to ..." She never finished her question. Just then, a small bit of wire pinged off her forehead and onto the floor.

After a round of apologies and the filing of appropriate paperwork, only one question remained...
"What was that funny, little, C-shaped piece of wire?"

When I have days like today, I try to remember days like that of the curious bra incident. You can't tell me that someone up above isn't laughing down on all of us.