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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 up to coming in the next day. By then, 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 I was taking my shower after breakfast when I heard my wife, Deb,
call out to me from the kitchen.
"Ed! 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,"
So out I came, dripping wet and buck naked, hoping to make a statement about
how cowardly her behavior was.
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 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
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 rational manner.
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.
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!
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