Well, it is O-Dark-Thirty here at the Office. (Full disclosure: Princess Pissant is not at the Office.) But coincidentally, it’s also O-Dark-Thirty here at home, where PP is up at the shank of the morning, making final preparations for a business trip. (Full disclosure: It’s not a business trip.)
Indeed, my up-and-coming travels – in just a few short hours – are a far cry from anything even remotely related to business. Yup, you guessed it; PP is embarking on a GW!!!!!
Girls’ weekend!!!!! (Full disclosure: It’s not the weekend.)
But Wednesday seems as good a time as any to get an early jumpstart on the WE.
Likewise, Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the year in the Jewish religion, seems an excellent day to fly. What’s my reasoning, you ask? Well, terrorists and hijackers are less likely to be out and about when they know that the majority of their main targets are at home, fasting and asking for forgiveness.
Some might argue, as My Husband the Photographer (MHTP) did, that the holiest day of the year in the Jewish religion is the most inopportune day to fly, if you’re “neurotic and obsessive” about terrorist attacks, but PP happens to know that MHTP was just looking for any excuse to put the kibosh on the GW.
MHTP’s less-than-veiled resentment over the GW starting on a Wednesday has not stopped PP from getting up long before the crack of dawn here to work on a multi-page document of detailed instructions and helpful hints – like, “It’s best if you don’t leave the kids’ wet towels in the trunk of your car for four days where they get irreversibly mildew-y and thereby unusable, and represent a huge waste of my hard-earned money, and frankly a lack of respect for my contribution to this household, not to mention setting an example of complete disregard for the value of money and our possessions to the kids . . . but it’s entirely up to you.” – for MHTP.
Doesn’t he know not to leave towels in the trunk of his car for four days, or where to find the kids’ socks and backpacks, or even where to find the kids for the matter?
One would think so.
But sadly, not.
Hence, the four pages of instructions and helpful hints. As you know by now, PP is just that kind of self-sacrificing person who, rather than spend these precious last few hours before the GW trying to cram five pairs of boots into her carry-on, is instead entirely focused on helping a man in (obvious) need. By the time I finish the four page document – incidentally I need to get started on that in just a minute here – MHTP will have every second of my absence completely programmed for him; there will be no way he can fail to find (or later lose) KN2 (Kid Number 2), HOB (His Older Brother), their swim goggles, their shoes, their homework, their class photo order forms, or their mouth guards; nor will he even need to forage in the fridge for the milk, ketchup or anything else that’s right in goddamn front of him.
Okay then, back to today’s blog topic: terrorists and hijackers. Now, it may come as something of a surprise to you that PP is in fact relatively knowledgeable about this topic. Have you ever asked yourself what are all those contracts hanging over her head even related to?
Well, whether you’ve asked yourself that or not, the fact of the matter is: I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you. (Full disclosure: PP took that line from a movie; she wouldn’t really have to kill you.)
But, yes, just like FSGA – whom early readers will remember as Former Secret Government Agency guy, and one of my favorite Office-mates – Princess Pissant spent her younger years working for a very secretive branch of the U.S. government.
Which is just one of the many reasons that PP now writes about herself in the third person at the local Starbucks . . . or as I sometimes think of it, the SCIF. Pronounced skiff.
What’s a SCIF, pronounced skiff? FSGA knows exactly what I mean: Safe Compartmented Information Facility. (Also, known as Starbucks.)
Anyway, all of that’s a story not to be shared some other day. But suffice it to say, PP just might have some insider knowledge or information – what we (who used to be) in the bizness call intelligence – about when and where there exists the least likelihood of some lunatic with a bomb strapped to his underwear attempting to board a plane.
Or she may not. (Full disclosure: she does not.)
PP does recall reading a sensitive report once – back in her single days, when her whole life was one long, hazy GW – indicating that she had more chance of dying in a terrorist attack than of ever finding a mate. (Full disclosure: it was not a report, per se, but rather an article in Cosmo.)
Anyway, that was a loooooooong time ago, and circumstances surely have changed. For one thing, PP did not die in a terrorist attack. And she did find a mate.
Finally, let me conclude by saying: PP is nothing if not a risk-taker. A calculated risk-taker, that is. And she has determined that once MHTP gets his hands on that four-page document of detailed instructions and helpful hints – loaded as it will be with double-edged comments and incisive barbs – she has a much better chance of surviving the underwear bomber, or any of his cohorts, than she does a WE with the family here at home.
It goes without saying, she sure will miss them though.
And, God willing, she will be back at the Office next week.