Calling in sick ...
Beave
263 Posts
Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable. 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. I simply mentioned that I had sustained a head injury and I hoped I would feel like coming in the next day.
By then, I thought, I could think up a doozy to explain the bandage on my crown. The accident occurred mainly because I conceded to my wife's wishes to adopt a cute little kitty.
Initially, the new acquisition was no problem but one morning after breakfast I was taking my shower when I heard my wife, Deb, call out to me from the kitchen. "Ed!! The garbage disposal is dead. Come and reset it." "You know where the button is," I protested through the shower (pitter-patter). "Reset it yourself!" "I'm scared!" she pleaded. "What if it starts going and sucks me in?" (Pause.) "C'mon, it'll only take you a second."
So I came, dripping wet and buck-naked. I crouched down and stuck my head under the sink to find the button. That was the last action I remember performing. I was struck without warning! Nay, it wasn't electrical shock. It wasn't a 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 had been poised round the corner and had stalked me as I took my position under the sink. At precisely the second I was
most vulnerable, she lepta at the toys I had unwittingly offered and snagged them with her needle-like claws.
I lost all rational thought when it came to controlling my bodily movements. I rose up at a violent rate of speed, with the full weight of a kitten hanging from my masculine region. Raising straight up, 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 were trying to conduct their work while suppressing hysterical laughter.
At the office, my colleagues tried to coax an explanation out of me. I kept silent, claiming it was too painful to talk about. "What's the matter, cat got your tongue?"
If they had only known.
On one occasion, I had a valid reason, but lied anyway because the truth was too humiliating. I simply mentioned that I had sustained a head injury and I hoped I would feel like coming in the next day.
By then, I thought, I could think up a doozy to explain the bandage on my crown. The accident occurred mainly because I conceded to my wife's wishes to adopt a cute little kitty.
Initially, the new acquisition was no problem but one morning after breakfast I was taking my shower when I heard my wife, Deb, call out to me from the kitchen. "Ed!! The garbage disposal is dead. Come and reset it." "You know where the button is," I protested through the shower (pitter-patter). "Reset it yourself!" "I'm scared!" she pleaded. "What if it starts going and sucks me in?" (Pause.) "C'mon, it'll only take you a second."
So I came, dripping wet and buck-naked. I crouched down and stuck my head under the sink to find the button. That was the last action I remember performing. I was struck without warning! Nay, it wasn't electrical shock. It wasn't a 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 had been poised round the corner and had stalked me as I took my position under the sink. At precisely the second I was
most vulnerable, she lepta at the toys I had unwittingly offered and snagged them with her needle-like claws.
I lost all rational thought when it came to controlling my bodily movements. I rose up at a violent rate of speed, with the full weight of a kitten hanging from my masculine region. Raising straight up, 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 were trying to conduct their work while suppressing hysterical laughter.
At the office, my colleagues tried to coax an explanation out of me. I kept silent, claiming it was too painful to talk about. "What's the matter, cat got your tongue?"
If they had only known.
Comments
I wouldn't want to explain that one either but
I have to admit I had a good chuckle.
Thanks for the laugh! x:7
Lisa
Please don't post your picture for quite some time. It's gonna' take a while for the images to fade and I don't want to connect this scenario with anyone I know. Gruesome thought for Friday Morning, true story or not.
I am assuming this is something you found because I noticed that the husbands name in the story is Ed and your name is Charles. (unless of course you changed names to protect the not so innocent) Either way, funny stuff for a Friday. FYI, cats claws are dangerous, just ask my dog!
I know this wasn't you Beave but thanks for the laugh!