“Aw, crap. Tomorrow?”
“Yeah.”
“Damn it.”
I loved my wife. I loved my daughter. I hated my job. I had not ended up in architecture, but rather the corporate world, doing meaningless financial garbage that paid well but chipped away at my soul one meeting at a time. When it had been eight to five, Monday through Friday, I could live with it, but now every other weekend I was being called in to work mandatory overtime.
“Can’t you just say no?”
“Yeah, and then not hear the end of it all week. Better to just put in the few hours and be done with it. They say it’s temporary.”
“They’ve said it’s temporary—”
“—for the past six months, I know. What can I say? I have a lousy job.” I kissed her. “If I were too blessed, I’d float up into the heavens and it would be really inconvenient to try and get me down.”
“We wouldn’t want that.”
“Nope.”
Tracy giggled hysterically at the television show she was watching. It was a poorly animated, inane program about a family of dishes that went on magical adventures.
“Does she have to watch that?” I asked.
“It’s her favorite.”
“It’s going to make her dumb.”
“It’s no worse than what we watched when we were kids.”
“No, actually, it’s much worse. We had cool shows when we were kids. This show is going to make her dumb, I swear.” I noticed that Tracy had moved closer to the television again. “Tracy! Scoot back!”
“Okay.”
“Do you want me to shut it off?”
Tracy scooted back about two inches.
“On the couch.”
“I can’t see it on the couch!”
“Yes, you can. Move back there or I’ll turn it off.”
Tracy stuck out her lower lip in a pout, but slid back along the carpet and leaned against the couch.
“On the couch.”
“Mommy didn’t say I had to!”
“Mommy’s saying it now,” Melanie told her.
Tracy looked at us with disdain, and then got up on the couch.
“We’re such mean parents,” Melanie said.
“The meanest. Tonight you should wear your witch hat.”
“I think I will.”
We kissed again, and then joined our daughter on the couch to share in the joy of unspeakably crappy television programs.
It was a long week at work, as all of them tended to be. Friday was particularly bad because I kept flashing back to a very special, very surprising move Melanie had made in the bedroom the night before. I wanted her to do it again. It sounded much more fun than working on the spreadsheet I had up on my computer screen.
Being horny at work really sucked.
Mr. Grove, my boss, walked up to my cubicle. He was short, bald, and quite overweight, though he carried it well. He drummed his fingers along the side of my wall.
“Gonna need you to put in a few hours tomorrow,” he said. “We’ve got a video conference with Lavin at two.”
“I can’t do it. Taking care of my daughter.”
“Can’t your wife do that?”
I shook my head. “She volunteers at the art gallery.”
“If it’s volunteer work, she can get out of it, right?”
“I can’t do Saturdays. I can come in on Sunday if you need me.”
“How long is your wife there?”
“One to three.”
“So you can work until then, right? And then put in a couple of hours after three?”
“Yeah.”
Mr. Grove chuckled. “Good thing you’re salaried or you’d blow the hell out of our department’s budget. Nah, I’m just kidding, Alex. I appreciate all you do for us.”
“Thanks.”
“See you at seven.”
“Yeah.”
I went back to the fun-filled spreadsheet.
Melanie was not feeling up to doing the special move again that night, but we engaged in some traditional activities that were more than satisfying. I set the alarm for six, grumbling loudly about how unfair it was to lose a wonderful day of sleeping in.
“You don’t get to sleep in anyway,” Melanie said. “Tracy wakes us up with her cartoons.”
“Yeah, but someday she’ll be too old for cartoons and we’ll miss it,” I said. “On the other hand, my job will go on forever. A long, dark, empty forever.”
“So when are you going to look for a new one?”
“I dunno. When Tracy’s in college, I guess.”
“Be serious.”
“I just don’t want to quit this job and find myself in something worse. At least the people I work with are tolerable. I could end up with one of those psycho bosses who throw furniture and breathe fire.”
“Alex, you’re not happy.”
“I’m very happy.”
“But you’re not happy at work.”
“It makes coming home all that much sweeter.”
Melanie snuggled more closely against me. “Yeah, well, it would be sweeter to be woken up by cartoons tomorrow instead