When I was a little girl, I used to enjoy writing stories. On the whole, they probably weren’t that great. Especially as I often managed to only get half or three quarters of the way through before I got bored or sidetracked by a new project. I always had fun though because I loved expressing myself in words. I therefore imagined that when I eventually got married, it would be to someone who would write me long, deep and meaningful letters that would speak to the depths of my soul. Or even long, shallow and pointless emails that would tickle the core of my sense of humour. As it turns out however, that wasn’t the case.
You, my husband, rarely send me anything more than a paragraph or two and frequently all I get is a sentence or two. Despite this seeming reluctance for lengthy correspondence however, you actually are a very good writer. You have an eloquence that I admire and an ability that I think is truly awesome. Your turn of phrase as you formulate lyrics for your music is a rare gift and I also have to say that you are a dead set legend at improving my attempts at addressing selection criteria or employment review questions.
So it would seem in fact that I did marry a poet but what I also wanted to say to you my husband was that you do sometimes surprise me. I came across the following when I was cleaning up files of saved emails and such and I remember that your emails totally cracked me up and made my day on this occasion. We were of course both in different jobs at the time and caught in a moment when we were each somewhat…unstimulated shall we say but it is a memory that still makes me smile…
The Husband: How’s your day going??
The Wife: Oh, you know, its a laugh a minute in this place. A bit of photocopying, playing with paperwork to make it all look pretty, same old same old really. I spent an inordinate amount of time yesterday forging documents so they look like they have always appeared on our letterhead and today I got to print them all out and put them in an envelope. Very intellectual stuff…things that lesser mortals might not understand…tasks that require a certain expertise and relevant training in order to perform to the high standards that I constantly maintain.
Like that really.
The Husband: Ahhhh, I understand….
Well at least you get to use that fine intellect of yours in creating the verbose, literary gem of an email that I end up receiving in response to my poorly concocted preschool attempt at conversation……..
The Wife: Yes, I know. But we can’t all be gifted in this life.
It is however a mark of strength and a certain level of intelligence on your part that has enabled you to both recognise and acknowledge your shortcomings. I am aware that I am currently in an enviable position at my place of employment, presiding as I do over the some of the documentation that is diligently disseminated from this office and it would I’m sure be very easy to foster resentment of both my good fortune and my natural talent but you accept this with a refreshing grace and humility…
So how is your day so far dear…?
The Husband: Indeed my love, those of us who are still mere mortals cannot understand nor utilise the angelic languages you speak.
My day however, is sarcastically tremendous. The joys of effective management protocols, the warm feelings you get from a pat on the back (knife or no knife…), and the constant indications that your career is carefully developing an exit strategy in close companionship with the nearest toilet bowl.
I love my job!
But apart from that, I am looking forward to our dinner tonight. No work, wine, food, company… Finally time to let it all hang out.
On second thought, maybe I should tuck some of it in… I guess there are only so many things that should be presented to the host on arrival at a dinner party.
The Wife: Ah yes. It is often considered advantageous to put your best foot forward and therefore entering the room first with other protruding body parts is generally not held as the best way to make friends and influence people.
In a way it gladdens me though, considering how much you love your job, to know that that stalwart bastion of bureaucracy currently facilitating over our supposed democracy and operating at times like an idiocacy (in the sense that it is run in part by the cellularly challenged in the brain department), is just the same as it was yesterday and indeed last year and the decade before that. I’m sure there must be a certain plebeian comfort in knowing that an organisation which insults your intelligence today is not going to do an about face and confuse matters tomorrow. Yes?
Of course, one never actually applies to be a human voodoo doll however so there are only so many sharp objects in the back, sideswipes and swift blows to the midsection that one can take before it is abundantly clear that a square peg does not fit in a round hole. At this point it is almost a fait accomplis that the work place turns into an episode of Survivor and any and all dissenters get voted off the island. Because really, how else are they supposed to ensure profound obsequience if they cannot make the lateral thinkers that snuck through the system wear the unthinking cap of the servant to the public?
The Husband: Ok, ok, I give up…..
But I love you anyway.
Your Loving Wife
* Yet another photo from last year’s Sculptures By The Sea