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The Mouse Pad

Date: Last Edit December 3, 1996; July 27, 1998

Last week was not a good week. Let's see....

            A friend had a heart attack. (He's OK.)

            I dropped a 200MB Syquest cartridge. (It's not.)

            My older son was laid off.

            His paycheck bounced. He called me. (My bank balance is not.)

            He got a new job. I paid his car insurance. (He's OK.)

            I was doing my taxes. Last year's taxes. On deadline. (I'm definitely not OK.)

            In the middle of this chaos, I got a new mouse pad.



            Head shot - the top of the motorcycle picture. You know the one with the big bike and the tight, torn jeans and the open jacket..... Ah, yes.

            Those blue eyes pop off that pad and rivet you.

            That hair makes you want to run that mouse ball all over the place.

            And, it's the kind of pad that has that fast moving, easy sliding surface that makes that ball move so well.
            Excuse me, I need to check my pulse.

            While double-nickels are busy making their marks on my face and my body, I can dream can't I?
I took it to work. I have a small office. The smallest office I have ever had. I have partitions. I hate them. It's noisy. It's distracting. It's full of PowerMac gear, scanner, printers, drives, a big monitor, and it's full of storage cabinets, bookcases, tons of software manuals, plus an old 486 in the corner. I have little space to move and no view. I needed a lift at work. Some little perk to pick me up. I work hard. I deserve it.

            The women all smiled when it came. You know how. That secret "you'd better lock that up at night or it will be on MY desk" smile. The ages didn't matter. With Fabio, it never does. Gorgeous man. So gentle. So sweet. So easy on the eyes. Even if it is only a shoulders-up shot.

            The men? They shivered. They shook. They paraded about in my office. They strutted. They whined. They posed. They sent me to HR. They said they were being harassed.
            HR has flying pig mobiles and a jack-a-lope stuffed and mounted on the wall. HR said I could keep it. (The mouse pad.) They said I deserved it.

            It's just as well. My fifteen-year-old wanted it out of the house. Reasserting that fact he is my son and the center of my world. And he's bigger than I am. They learn early. I guess he still sees Fabio as competition for my attention. The mouse pad didn't keep him off my computer or the Internet, however. He's growing up. (And he will kill me when he reads this!)
            But the men at work...They haven't grown up.

            They retaliated. My boss wants to change the rules if he can't find one to make it go away. The others cheer him on. (Bad move guys!) They want bathing suit bimbos on the wall. I said no. They said they could see too much of his "breasts" and it was disturbing them. I said his neckline was no lower than mine, he just had a big chest
            Big chest.
            And my hand would usually be covering it.

            I defied them to comment further. They didn't. They didn't dare. Something in my tone of voice perhaps? Or the fire in my eyes. Or the need for that datasheet I am assembling....

            I locked the mouse pad up when I went home. Why take chances?
            I'm going to write and see if they have a bigger one. As I said, I have a big monitor....


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