If the question is, “did anyone water my poinsettia while I was gone?” (Hey, I don’t buy the damn things. I just kill ’em).
It’s pissing down rain. The zipper’s busted on the back window of my ragtop, so I poked a hole in the fabric and jiggered it back together in the middle with a twist-tie. My psychic powers tell me I shall arrive home with a wet ass.
First email in the pile this morning was a screen capture of our technical documentation application with the notation, “can this be fixed?” I call him up.
Me: “Can what be fixed? It looks fine to me.”
Him: “That picture. It comes up every time I load the CD.”
Me: “That…wait, what? There’s only one…do you mean that picture on the right there?”
Me: “That’s…that’s the front cover.”
Him: “Has it always been there?”
Me: “Just since 1997.”
God. Damn. It’s like somebody brought in a big bowl of chewy caramel-covered stupid and everybody’s been pigging out for two weeks.
Yeah. I’m back. And I’m chapped in allllll the tender places.