Today’s tale was going to be wonderful. Masterful. Grand.
It was going to start off with a quote and then the lyrics to the song “Mr. Wendell.” I was excited. Stoked. Enthused. When my “Shuffle’ station on my Sirius Satellite Radio shuffled on to Arrested Development’s upbeat though poignant political beat. Oh Mr. Wendell. Oh oh oh hey hey. Go ahead Mr. Wendell.
Well, Mr. Wendell was quickly derailed by a 12-16 oz cup of icy water cooler water spilled ever so gracefully in my lap. Man, that water was cold. Man.
I admit, I was sorely tempted to take a candid picture of my rear and nether areas. In fact, I can take quite a nice heiny picture.
So, as I sit here, my pants are damp, as is my chair. In fact, I am lucky that I keep a roll of paper towels at my desk and that there’s a spare chair hanging out in my general vicinity.
My mass email to the company in an attempt to procure a hair dryer to warm and dry my derrière proved fruitless, less the one member of my team who casually inquired after my need for a hair dryer.
As I reflect and ponder, a new concern has arisen: diaper rash.
Aye me.
