Well, there’s no need to freak out my anxiety-sharing friends…it’s all good because Rambo is employed by 1of the same communities as me and by another community he serves as well. That means that we attend basically every meeting together and we manage the same accounts and people in general. So it’s completely non-hive-inducing and completely bearable because Rambo is always right next to me.
Well, until it’s not. Until I have to call an impromptu meeting for shitloads of people where I have to speak and then hours before that meeting RAMBO GETS FORCED INTO A SECOND SHIFT OF WORK AT THE PRISON. Translation: he cannot make the meeting.
Ass hives. That’s all I’ve got to say and all I’ve got…well…on my ass. And entire body if you really wanna know.
I found out about noon – the very same day - that for the big two-village board meeting – I’d be on my own. Drive there alone. Walk in alone. Sit down alone. Present alone.
Beforehand, I took a gamble and I begged the plant manager to hold my hand through the meeting but he was all like, “Um, my wife wouldn’t appreciate that.” That also might have been followed by “What the hell do you mean that your husband, the Mayor, won’t be here tonight?”
Did I stutter? He ain’t coming dillhole. You need to hold my hand or I swear to you, I will never write you another paycheck as long as you live.
Ugh. I made it through just fine. I definitely had hives. I always get really hot too and my ears felt like they were on fire and at any minute I expected my hair to burst into flames. And I sweat buckets.
But I did it. I did my presentation in 45 minutes flat. Even got a few compliments from some other Mayors. Then got invited to the local bar for a drink with the guys. Just me and a bunch of men having a drink. Without Rambo.
Um yah – no. Let me call a girlfriend first and beg her to come and I’m so there.
My friend came and I laughed and talked and tried really hard not to itch the hives on my ass and ruin my façade. My mom watched my girls while I was gone and before I left she said, “I’m really proud of you for going that alone.”…because she knows how hard it was for me.
I couldn’t say much back because at that point my throat had swollen shut and I was having convulsions now that I was home and had realized what I had just been through. A little instant PTSD was what I had for supper.
And do you know what happened this morning?
My plant manager called me to ask how I thought the meeting went. Then he had the ever-loving balls to say, “I think you were a little nervous last night when you talked. I could hear it in your voice.”
I literally said, “You mother heifer. I told you I was nervous and you’re the crackhead weinerass who wouldn’t hold my hand through it. OMG – I hate you.”
And because he is a man with a penis and no brains – in between his laughter – I heard him say, “I can’t be a heifer cuz I’m a boy.”
Seriously? I mean really? That’s all you got?
Chickenshit afraid of your wife boy is what you are. Wait until Rambo hears how well you filled in for him when he was gone.
If we were professional enough to have an employee file (and not call each other names like heifer) for you – this incident would be written up and put in there.
Does anyone really wonder why I snort Skittles and M&Ms and have a constant Mountain Dew IV drip in my arm?
I thought not.