I have a job that sucks. It slightly crushes my soul every day I punch-in but that isn’t the point of this post.  This post is about how I am not an animal.  It starts with the fact that California is in a severe drought. No, scratch that, it starts in the 80s. I’m a child of the 80s. I was raised on the three Rs: Reduce, Reuse and Recycle. So when I walk in to the kitchen at the job that I hate and see the faucet dripping and no one around, I see red. It’s hard enough to deal with my coworkers on a daily basis but when they cannot literally take one extra second to make sure the faucet is properly turned off, I kind of lose my mind.

A few of my colleagues understand that I’m neurotic. I’ve made this clear by my rants about perpetually abused homonyms, the phrase “that’s not my job” and micro-management. But the point of this entire blog post is that I saw the running faucet and turned it off. It wasn’t that hard, it didn’t take any extra effort or even a second thought. So, why am I writing? Because apparently  in my hyper-focused moment of rage for Mother Earth, my actions were noticed by a muckity muck. This dude is prime middle management. He’s taken every six-sigma course offered, gotten his MBA and makes it a point to learn ever employee’s name. What happened when I turned off the water is going to be one of those things that sticks with me for a long, long while. This muckity-muck saw me turn off the water, and stared me in the eyes and said “Thank you, Stefanie”

The part that strikes me, is that his gratitude was genuine. Not because he is some secret tree-hugger. But because he bleeds middle management. In that moment, he didn’t see me as some hourly employee who was doing a good turn. He saw me as a leader. In my one innocuous moment, this dude saw a life and career path that I never imagined nor wanted for myself. He saw me advancing to a supervisor position, and maybe moving to another start-up to get some much-needed management experience because I wouldn’t find the respect from my peers that I deserved. He’d hope that a short time later, I’d return to this company and be a respected middle manager myself. Maybe even his direct underling. We’d get lunch, and I’d present innovative ideas that he could only dream of. He’d admire my “think outside the box attitude” and my “never takes no for an answer” demeanor. He’d encourage me enough to stay with the company through stagnant years and to never jump ship because we believed in the mission. But there would always be a part of him that would hold me back. He’d want me to be his protegé and never to eclipse him.

I saw his entire vision for me when he said “thank you, Stefanie” and it terrified me. Because I’m not meant for that life. I’m meant for more. Bigger, greater things. I’m meant for opportunities where turning the water off is the norm and not the exception. So I’ll go back to ranting about homonyms, I’ll still suggest big changes that will spur new ideas but I’ll also suggest cake Thursdays to keep the muckity-mucks from dreaming too big.

Me = Master Seductress

Tuesday night was HHP’s birthday. As most days that end in Y, I was feeling a little frisky and since it was his special day I dug through the illustrious bottom drawer of my dresser (dear friends and family it’s not a good idea to dig through that drawer next time you visit, FYI.) I found this awesome corset that I had purchased years ago to wear under my wedding dress.

It looked exactly like this except in white. I look exactly like this model except fat and pasty. ..

I’m super excited to don this little sexified number and I go to put it on I realize I’m a little bit smaller in both the top and bottom than the last time I wore it. Normally, I call in the assistance of HHP to help me with his fuck awesome Eagle Scout knots, but since it was his birthday and I wanted to surprise him I took care of it myself. Not gonna lie, I was super impressed that my bunny ear knots held everything in place.

Have I mentioned where HHP is during all of this? No? Let me get to that. We have a house guest this week from Germany. HHP got roped into hosting an impromptu dinner party with our houseguest and our upstairs neighbors/landlord. I had conveniently bowed out of this dinner because it started at 10pm at night, I had to work the next day and like I may have mentioned…I wanted to have crazy hot corset/birthday sex. To complicate the situation house guests normally stay in our spare room/dog room which means the dogs get moved into the living room. If you recall, Tuesday was oppressively hot in Boston so we moved the dogs into the bedroom with the air conditioner. Which is usually fine, but that night the dogs had a front row seat to and my attempt at sexiness.

I subtly start texting HHP at 10:45pm letting him know that if the dogs start barking “I’m not dressed appropriately 😉 to take them out and perhaps you should come into the bed room and take care of it.”

He didn’t get my text.

Because I’m the epitome of rational, I’m pissed. I’m hot, I’m tired, I’m trying to be seductive and I’m hungry. And when I’m pissed and all of these other ridiculous things I’m surprisingly not frisky. So HHP finds me asleep in shorts and a t-shirt that night.

On to the next evening! (This is where it gets good)

Plot points: I still want a romp in the hay, still unbearable hot but the dogs are in the non-air conditioned living room, houseguest is mollified with internet/beer/cigarettes and HHP is taking a shower before bed.

I cram my goodies into the corset again and as I lay on the bed eagerly awaiting HHP’s imminent return from the bathroom I run my hands up and down my body trying my best to look sexily.

This is the image I get when I google “lay in bed sexily” seriously, it is.

As I lay there, wondering why the hell HHP’s shower is taking so fucking long I notice there are 2 random pieces of boning in the corset protruding at the bottom. I also start to realize that there are those strange loops that help affix clothing to hangers at the bottom of the corset. At the bottom of the corset? Huh, that’s weird, why would they be there.

When HHP comes in from the bathroom, he’s shocked/awed/excited about my wardrobe decision. After he eyes the merchandise a little longer than I usually care for, I’m toying with the lace at the bottom of the corset and eagerly awaiting his next move when my mind wanders…

2 pieces of protruding boning + strange loops to affix clothing + lace all at the bottom of the corset = Jesus Christ, I am an idiot

I’m wearing the corset upside down.

I should be mortified. I should be doing everything in my power to ensure this corset comes off quickly and HHP will be none the wiser and we’ll never speak of this again, but I don’t.

I start giggling like an idiot and the giggling distracts HHP from his mission of get wife nekked now. I try, between my chortling, to inform HHP of my lingerie faux pas, but he can’t understand me. He starts to unfurl the “mission accomplished” banner when I jump out of bed to rip the upside down corset off only to tear up like a fat kid at TCBY when I take 10 minutes to put the corset on the proper way.

Because HHP is contractually obligated to me for the rest of his life, he never mentions my apparent need to de-corset and re-corset myself just when things were getting hot and heavy. He does, however, delight in the re-de-corseting that occurs shortly thereafter.