Engineering My Own Disappointment

You probably wonder what I do all day. My answer would be, "Not a whole hell of a lot." Once I get the kids off to school, there's the poodles to pet.  And there's three of them, so usually by the time I finish petting the last one I have to start all over or someone gets their feelings hurt.  I usually go straight from that to eyebrow plucking.  Let me tell you; with eyebrows like mine, who needs bonsai?  When I'm finished with that, I spend a fair amount of time writing.  I'll tell you a little about my work in progress; my magnum opus.  It's a teen musical based upon the life of Typhoid Mary.  The idea is so awesome, it pretty much writes itself.  Obviously.

She's contagious! She sings! She dances! She's a triple threat!

My routine was interrupted the other day when the husband asked me to meet him downtown at his office.  He wanted me to meet his co-workers and then have lunch.  I've never actually met anyone from his work (4 years! a personal record!) but he talks about them all the time and I've created corresponding images for them in my mind.  That's just how I organize my life; I label everyone.  It's easier for me. But, honestly, it just creates a cycle of disappointment of my own making.  Most people can't live up to the image I create for them.

So the first time Winston mentioned this guy at work named Paul Winfield, I sat up and said, "No way! No way Paul Winfield aka Captain Terrell in the Wrath of Khan works in your office! That's awesome!"  The husband assured me I had mental problems, and that Paul Winfield was a short white guy with red hair.  But it was too late.  I had already imprinted.  All I could see was this:

I've memorized the entire movie. I could recite it to you.

Then there's this woman he works with, Shelly Anderson.  He once mentioned in passing that she was a single mom.  Now, whenever he says things like, "Shelly's car got stolen this weekend,"  all I see is this:

Erin Brokovich, engineer

 Another couple of guys have these great Russian sounding names, so I have always imagined that they look like those dudes from one of my favorite commercials ever:

From the Halls of Medicine! Breathe Deep, My Pasty Friend!

Unfortunately for Ed Chupazak, all I heard was El Chupacabre, Mexican blood sucking creature of the night.  Must be awkward around the water cooler...

"My fantasy football team is kicking ass!"

 Lastly there's Winston's boss, Pete Houston.  Initially, I pictured J.R. Ewing from the 80's evening soap Dallas.  Until Winston explained that he did not wear a Stetson or look anything like the guy from I Dream of Jeannie.  Apparently he's a tall, bald black guy.  Who obviously looks like this:

Mac, obsessively shaving in Predator

Which is badass. So's this:

Winston, could you step into my office? I'd like to talk about your TPS report.

And that's why I could never understand how he could bitch about work with all these awesome people walking around. When he complains about being in meetings all day, I can't imagine it being even remotely boring.  I picture Captain Terrell threatening to shoot himself to get the worms out of his ear, Erin Brokovich in a trampy outfit sticking it to the man, El Chupacabre lurking in the corner, two Russian dudes slapping my husband on the back and yelling, "Breathe deep, my pasty friend!"  All the while, Mac sits there dry shaving and sweating.  I could happily endure hours of that!

Me:  I have no idea what to wear!  OMG I am freaking out!  Paul Winfield! Mac! Erin Brockovich! I'm already outclassed!  I can't! I can't meet these people! It's too awesome!

Winston:  It's a bunch of engineers!  Pete does not look like Mac from Predator and it's not THAT Paul Winfield!  It's just a boring bunch of contractors!  You'll be the most exciting person there!

Me: I'm wearing my mink scarf! It's the classiest thing I own!

Sophisticated conversation piece

You can imagine my disappointment when I arrived at his office and he proceeded to introduce me to a bunch of gray-faced, monotone engineers, who all looked like it was either their first day back after a heart attack or were 1-2 days away from having one.  Each one of them looked up from their monitors, blinking like cave dwellers and began clustering around me like I was a some sort of rare, sparkly unicorn.  I don't think they see the outside very often.  It was horribly disappointing.  Not one movie star or creature of the night among them.  I tried to make charming conversation, to let them know that I forgave them for not living up to my expectations.  It didn't work.

Me: So great to finally meet you! Winston speaks highly of you!

Engineer:  Yes.  We worked on bla bla bla bla engineering bla bla project bla bla greenfield bla bla bla structural bla bla work stuff that bores you to tears bla bla bla.  I'm going to talk work at you till your brain bleeds. Bla.

Me: How about that?  Where should we get lunch?

Engineer: I eat at my desk.

Me: That's awesome! We gotta go!

And that's when I realized that my husband is the bravest man ever to work all day in that soul sucking office.  He goes there every day and exists in a vast nebula of stress and advanced boring and he does it all for me and the kids.  He is the sparkly unicorn.  Not me.  And when I look at him all I see is this:

and when we are together he makes me feel like this:

and I just wanted to say:

                           Happy Anniversary Sweetheart! I love you so very much!

~dana