We just got a letter stating that Husband has been approved for FMLA (we knew that) and that he just needs to make sure that he contacted his employer at least two days before (date several weeks before the letter was written, before they even started requesting these forms) to schedule a return to work. Or else. Still not a peep about actual disability payments, of course.
And shit like that is why I’m not keeping y’all posted on much of what’s going on around here. It’s too depressing, and involves a lot of exceptionally foul language.
Let’s talk about Christmas instead, okay?
That’s my new favoritest goddamned thing in the whole wide world, and I’m ashamed of myself for not owning one before now. It’s sold as a light tester and repair device, and there’s a whole lot of nonsense about how it works in the instruction booklet, but I found the real story in this amazon review:
Here’s how it usually works: every year, we take down our outside lights and carefully put them away in the basement. We do this sometime in January(ish) so that they don’t start burning out on us. Then, in November, we pull them out and discover that a year of storage in a nice, temperature controlled basement did what months in the elements could not, and nearly every strand is crap. So we go out and buy all new lights, every year swearing that next year is the year we spring for LED’s (but not this year, because this year we have to replace everything again, and it’s going to be really expensive. Again.)
Well, this year I finally convinced Husband to spend $20 on a tester before spending $100 on the portico lights alone.* Because I – and I think we can now agree that this is a confirmed fact – am a freakin’ genius.
Husband and Offspring were skeptical at first that this flimsy plastic gun could fix shit, but I pointed out that even if all it did was point out which bulbs were bad it would be a timesaver.
Ten minutes later, Offspring came to me with the gun in one outstretched hand
OFFSPRING: (wide-eyed) What brand of demon resides in this thing, and what do they eat?
ME: (trying to contain the smug) It works?
HIM: I… I plugged in the dead socket, clicked it a few times, and the entire strand lit up. SORCERY!
ME: Off you go, then. Fix ‘em all.
HIM: (holding gun between two fingers) We’re keeping this locked in the basement at night. I don’t want them stealing my soul!
ME: (cheerfully) Don’t worry – they eat batteries.
Husband is full of theories as to what the gun is doing, but Offspring and I don’t want to hear it. Frankly, I’m pretty sure he’s making up all that nonsense about shunts and fuses and voltage and amps. Pfft.
Clearly, it is a Christmas gun. You click it, and Christmas shoots out.
I don’t know, maybe it’s an engineer thing, but Husband is having a really hard time with some basic Christmas concepts. One last example, before I go shout at the insurance company about the linear nature of time and offer to buy them a calendar. This one takes place around 10:00am, which is important because I had not had time to touch anything sparkly.
HIM: (Blah blah blah) … You’ve got glitter.
HIM: On your forehead. And your cheeks…. And some on your mouth?
ME: What? How? Oh… because it’s Christmas.
HIM: (confused) What, you just start to sweat glitter?
ME: Do you doubt it? This is our final proof!
* Of course I light the crap out of everything. Are you new or something?