This is How I Entertain Myself
If you didn't know this- I work with Doug. We have for years. We met at our school. Dated, were engaged, married, then I left for a bit. Then I came back. Then I left for a bit more. Then I came back.
When I interviewed to come to work at the same school as Doug, I was asked, "What's the advantage of working with your husband?" What I wanted to say was: "He always has a dollar, so when I get hankering for the vending machine, he hooks me up." I didn't. Instead I said, "We always know where we'll be on Friday nights." For real, at the times I've worked at other schools, it was hard choosing between what football/basketball game we'd go to.
For the most part I think Doug and I work together pretty well. We hardly ever see each other. We don't ride to school together. I like to get there early and leave by 4pm. He likes to get there at the last possible second and stay until 5-6pm. (plus, I'm not a morning person, so. . . it's best if we're not together too much in the mornings). We don't eat lunch together. Ew! As if! I want to be by myself. He wants to be with his friend. We don't sit with each other at faculty meetings- he sits with his people and I sit with mine.
There are a few things I do like about working with Doug:
1. He has a dollar, if I need it. And sometimes he brings me a drink and a snack.
2. I don't have to explain who I'm talking about- he knows.
3. He could be a friend if I needed one, and if there's a really bad day going on- he's there.
and . . . I have a mailbox to put all the stuff I don't want, in. :-) Flyers? I don't want those. In Doug's box. Catalogs? Nope. I don't want those either. In Doug's box. Reminders? Doug's box. He needs it more than me. My mind is a steel trap.
Someone told Doug that I've been doing this. I don't know who. I hadn't told anyone, so how did he know that I have been putting my unwanted papers in his box? Who happened upon me doing this? Who told on me?! Now- he's putting my unwanted materials back IN my box! No, no, no. . . I put it in your box, and you deal with it. That's how it works. Plus, it entertains me thinking about how he walks up to his mailbox and goes, "How the heck is there so much . . . oh. Kate." I just want to be sure he never forgets me. :-)
When I interviewed to come to work at the same school as Doug, I was asked, "What's the advantage of working with your husband?" What I wanted to say was: "He always has a dollar, so when I get hankering for the vending machine, he hooks me up." I didn't. Instead I said, "We always know where we'll be on Friday nights." For real, at the times I've worked at other schools, it was hard choosing between what football/basketball game we'd go to.
For the most part I think Doug and I work together pretty well. We hardly ever see each other. We don't ride to school together. I like to get there early and leave by 4pm. He likes to get there at the last possible second and stay until 5-6pm. (plus, I'm not a morning person, so. . . it's best if we're not together too much in the mornings). We don't eat lunch together. Ew! As if! I want to be by myself. He wants to be with his friend. We don't sit with each other at faculty meetings- he sits with his people and I sit with mine.
There are a few things I do like about working with Doug:
1. He has a dollar, if I need it. And sometimes he brings me a drink and a snack.
2. I don't have to explain who I'm talking about- he knows.
3. He could be a friend if I needed one, and if there's a really bad day going on- he's there.
and . . . I have a mailbox to put all the stuff I don't want, in. :-) Flyers? I don't want those. In Doug's box. Catalogs? Nope. I don't want those either. In Doug's box. Reminders? Doug's box. He needs it more than me. My mind is a steel trap.
Someone told Doug that I've been doing this. I don't know who. I hadn't told anyone, so how did he know that I have been putting my unwanted papers in his box? Who happened upon me doing this? Who told on me?! Now- he's putting my unwanted materials back IN my box! No, no, no. . . I put it in your box, and you deal with it. That's how it works. Plus, it entertains me thinking about how he walks up to his mailbox and goes, "How the heck is there so much . . . oh. Kate." I just want to be sure he never forgets me. :-)
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