Hi everyone! Happy new week and wishing you a great day. I haven’t written a short story here for a while so I thought today is a good day for it. Enjoy Harold’s demanding ways… or, well, you’ll see…
Harold hadn’t always been annoying, or at least not since the job interview two weeks ago. Then when I came through the office door today he was already complaining about my skirt being too short.
I mean, it’s not like I was wearing bikini bottoms! It wasn’t that short, and a zebra stripe pattern was quite appealing, if I do say so myself. He was likely just feeling all put out because his wife wasn’t putting out anymore. I mean it’s not my fault that she’s double my age! Heck, he’s even older than that so it’s no wonder he doesn’t reek of mothballs.
I was so tired of Harold, as tired as he was old, and here he was standing over me at my desk and talking to me about how I didn’t get that Press Release written on time. I mean, didn’t he know that I couldn’t concentrate when my nails hadn’t been filed yet? Was it really that difficult to understand? I didn’t even bother trying to explain it for the second time.
He peeked over the top of his glasses at me, and I’m sure he just wanted to peek down my blouse. Luckily for me I actually did up the third button down today.
As he walked away, I heard him mumble something about “youngsters,” and I thought well it wasn’t my fault that the moth balls were eating up his brain cells. Geesh, some people were so demanding anyways. I mean the Queen was going to be in town for two days so really it’s not like this Press Release couldn’t be done by tomorrow – that’s still 24 hours of coverage for the tiara lady!
As I turned back to my keyboard, reluctantly putting down the nail file, I thought about that sweater that was on sale until 5pm at RW&CO. It was cashmere, cream color and pretty much made for me. I should have bought it yesterday when Harold was out of the office. Now he was in his weird mode of hovering around me and making sure I worked. Yuck.
It really made me want to vomit. Actually, wait a minute…
I started to cough over my keyboard and then reached for the Kleenex box at the right side of my desk. Step three was already planned out as I covered my face a bit with the Kleenex while I stuck my finger down my throat to make me dry heave. It wasn’t pretty but then I couldn’t be that 24 hours a day, could I? Well, 23 hours and 50 minutes a day would have to do.
Ah yes, I would get out of here soon to grab that sweater. Sweet cashmere, it was calling me. And here Harold said I didn’t work hard. Well then what would he call this plan?
©2014 Christy Birmingham