Today, we received two checks in the mail from the ratings company that has us wearing their stupid personal meters. My check was for $60. Henry’s was only for $10. Of course, I took a moment to fold in half with laughter, and then I promptly called him at work to gloat.
“WHAT THE?!” he stammered upon receiving the news.
“[Obnoxious throaty laughter that alarmed the neighbors],” I contributed to the phone conversation.
“This is bullshit!” Henry shouted. “You don’t even WEAR yours half the time!” Truth. More often that not, one can overhear me outbursting that, “Fuck! I left my fucking pager-thing at home again.” Or it’s been banished to my purse after a co-worker spots it on my waistband and exclaims, “Oh my god, is that a PAGER?” I learned very quickly that hiding it in my purse under my desk doesn’t constitute as “keeping it on my person,” so I accumulate no points for that.
“I’m going to have to do something about this,” Henry threatened, mostly to himself.
I was still rolling around on the floor in a puddle of merriment when he hung up on me.