Lots of stuff going on and lots of posts being shelved until I get a chance to catch up. I’ve been busier than a one-legged man who’s really busy. When I was in Texas they seemed to have much better metaphors for stuff. Like days when it would rain harder than a cow pissing on a flat rock.
Speaking of which, they don’t have any flat rocks at work to demonstrate so I usually just head down the hall to the men’s room when I need to see a man about a horse. When jockeys say that I guess you never know whether they’re really going to see a man about a horse or just using it as a euphemism. Since I don’t work with horses or have enough room to keep a horse at home, you can assume that I’m off to take a leak if you ever hear me say that. Not that I would ever say that. But I did have an intern once who had a merchant marine background and insisted on telling me every time he was going to “hit the head.” Even when I told him he didn’t have to alert me each time. He stopped just short of saluting me. After he graduated from the Academy the only job he could find was driving a casino boat in a circle, so he ended up working for us before he went crazy and took a bunch of blue-haired granny gamblers on a joyride down the Des Plaines River. But I digress.
Believe it or not, the cow pissing on the flat rock was not a digression. I intended to extol my good hygiene and how militant I am about hand washing. The problem is that I think I’m washing or rinsing a little too violently because on more than a couple occasions I’ve recently splashed significant amounts of water onto my pants (or kilt if it’s not too chilly out). Then I end up returning from the men’s room looking like I pissed all over myself and in severe need of remedial lessons in going #1.
I may have to start wearing an apron.