A while back, before my present job, I worked in an office environment and had a cubicle. That is something I will probably do again in the not too distant future. And, after the probationary period is over, the company that hires me will finally learn the ghastly truth.
There will be a stuffed armadillo on my credenza.
At the moment she is ensconced under my computer desk at home, but nothing says warm nurturing environment for creative souls quite like a mummified dead armadillo.
She gets the mind juices flowing.
And keeps children at bay.
Yes, she's a she. I checked. She's only slightly bigger than the laptop on which this essay is being penned. Small, cute, and very personable.
STUFFED ARMADILLO
She is my executive assistant. And like many men, my executive assistant understands me better than any wife, which I don't have.
I find my stuffed armadillo comforting.
She assures me all is well.
Pooky.
AFTER WORD
There is a clickable link called stuffed Armadillo under several essays on this blog, which pulls up everything so tagged. It's some of my more interesting writing.
The last entry was six years ago.
I had forgotten about that.
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Often while at work I get to hear the sour old dingbats in the backroom spouting Republican drivel and venom. Which does not leave me positi...
2 comments:
Oh, it's "credenza", not Clemenza
Pete Credenza is vicious, I tell you ...
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