Ad: netjeff recommends
rShopping
app for Android, for your shopping list needs.
Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable because no matter
how legitimate my illness, I always sense my boss thinks I am
lying. On one occasion, I had a valid reason but lied anyway
because the truth was too humiliating to reveal. I simply
mentioned that I had sustained a head injury and I hoped I would
feel up to coming in the next day. By then, I could think up a
doozy to explain the bandage on my crown. In this case, the
truth hurt. I mean it really hurt in the place men feel the most
pain.
The accident occurred mainly because I conceded to my wife's
wishes to adopt a cute little kitty. As the daily routine
prescribes, I was taking my shower after breakfast when I heard
my wife, Deb, call out to me from the kitchen. "Ed!" she
hearkened. "The garbage disposal is dead. Come reset it." "You
know where the button is." I protested through the shower
pitter-patter. "Reset it yourself!" "I am scared!" She pleaded.
"What if it starts going and sucks me in?" Pause. "C'mon, it'll
only take a second." No logical assurance about how a disposal
can't start itself will calm the fears of a person who suffers
from "Big-ol-scary-machinephobia," a condition brought on by
watching too many Stephen King movies. It is futile to argue or
explain. And if a poltergeist did, in fact, possess the disposal,
and she was ground into round, I'd have to live with that the
rest of my life.
So out I came, dripping wet and buck naked, hoping to make a
statement about how her cowardly behavior was not without
consequence but it was I who would suffer. I crouched down and
stuck my head under the sink to find the button.
It is the last action I remember performing. It struck without
warning, without respect to my circumstances. Nay, it wasn't a
hexed disposal, drawing me into its gnashing metal teeth. It was
our new kitty, clawing playfully at the dangling objects she
spied between my legs. She ("Buttons" aka "the Grater") had been
poised around the corner and stalked me as I took the bait under
the sink. At precisely the second I was most vulnerable, she
leapt at the toys I unwittingly offered and snagged them with her
needle-like claws. Now when men feel pain or even sense danger
anywhere close to their masculine region, they lose all rational
thought to control orderly bodily movements. Instinctively, their
nerves compel the body to contort inwardly, while rising upwardly
at a violent rate of speed.
Not even a well trained monk could calmly stand with his groin
supporting the full weight of a kitten and rectify the situation
in a step-by-step procedure. Wild animals are sometimes faced
with a "fight or flight" syndrome; men, in this predicament,
choose only the "flight" option. Fleeing straight up, I knew at
that moment how a cat feels when it is alarmed. It was a dismal
irony. But, whereas cats seek great heights to escape, I never
made it that far. The sink and cabinet bluntly impeded my ascent;
the impact knocked me out cold.
When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood over me. Having
been fully briefed by my wife, the paramedics snorted as they
tried to conduct their work while suppressing their hysterical
laughter. My wife told me I should be flattered.
At the office, colleagues tried to coax an explanation out of me.
I kept silent, claiming it was too painful to talk.
"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" If they had only known.
| Categories for this item:
Pets
|
Humor collection