You know those big red FRAGILE stickers that you slap on boxes? Well, I’m fairly sure when I was born I had a big one slapped on my behind that screamed “MELODRAMA”. I’m guessing there must have been witches, warlocks, and Moldovian gremlins in that delivery room as well, because apparently nothing quiet and simple can occur in my life, unattended by mayhem and much drama. Case in point.
Landed a fabulous new job five weeks ago, something of a challenge when you live in the tropics. This was the last cog in the wheel of my brand spanking new life, and it was perfect. Managing four practices for a plastic surgeon and his dentist wife. Piece of cake. Work a few more years, retire, enjoy my palm trees, tropical breezes, and my egrets. Loved my new coworkers, commute was a delight, except for one office which was an eighty mile drive. First ten days, easy breezy. On Friday August 1, one of our female managers announced her grandpa in NY had passed and she would be absent from work through the following Thursday. I swallowed hard and prepared to step in while she was out. The following Monday morning I came in to the announcement that my doctor, the plastic surgeon, had a family emergency in NY and we would have to reschedule all his patients to the following week. Those Mensa members out there might already have caught on to my wee tale, alas, I did not yet connect the dots.
Wealthy socialite ladies who have booked their facial “freshening” procedures in the Caribbean, so that they can recover far from the prying eyes of neighbors and friends, did not take too kindly to the news of my doctor’s absence. I remember being called names that would have made my mama blush and a virgin become pregnant. So, you can only imagine the extreme joy we felt when we were informed the following week that our doctor’s crisis in NY was extending and that we must reschedule these already pissed off females yet again. Fast forward to week three and it was deja vu all over again.
The dentist wife had now become a constant presence in all four offices and was micromanaging like Satan on coke. The girl was angry and amped up and looking for trouble. After assuring us that our doctor would definitely be back practicing after Labor Day (they don’t even have this holiday here!), we were told that the little missus was flying to NY to check things out for herself. Quick trip, that. Sunday, the five of us who were the most recent hires, received phone calls telling us that our doctor would be in NY indefinitely and therefore, we were being “liberated” from our duties effective immediately. You really have to love the Brits. “Liberated” from duty? Like this was a favor, like parole from prison?
Listen, I am a major fan of shagging and all that implies, but heavens to Betsy, this couple had just had twins two months earlier. You seriously have to give up a thriving practice to run off with the native island girl who manages your office? Note to the good doctor, after two years, that pussy is not going to look or feel much different than your poor wife’s. What the hell gets into these men? Somehow I don’t sense a happy ending to this story.
Sex has been my undoing many times over in my life, but, despite having been undone, unhinged, and thoroughly discombobulated by it on numerous occasions, I’m quite certain this is the first time I’ve ever found myself “liberated” because of it.