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Showing posts from May, 2013

Labor Relations

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I'm not sure how I became management.

The division of labor in our house is thus: I cook the food. Man washes the dishes. Boy dries and puts away. This is perfectly equitable, though there is the occasional sigh and grouse when dinner is over and I vanish back into my office while they go clean the kitchen.

Today there was additional grousing, because I had baked a batch of chocolate chip cookies for my Relay for Life team. They're fine with cookies; not so fine when I tell them they can't eat them.

MAN: Why do you like to torture us?
ME: Because it's fun.
MAN: You could have baked two batches of cookies, one for the Relay team and one for us!
ME: I am going to bake two batches of cookies, and they're both for Relay!
BOY: We should go on strike!
ME: You have no cause! Back to work!

Then I went into the bathroom. When I came out, I was faced with this:



They began chanting, "No cookies no work! No cookies no work!" and marching a picket line in front of my …

Mother's Day

ME: Tonight is KFC. I am not cooking. Kitchen is closed, I am on strike.
HIM: You can't go on strike.
ME: Can too. Mother's Day.
HIM: You are not part of the union. You are management.
ME: I am not!
HIM: Management is not part of the union contract, woman.
ME: Don't call me woman!
HIM: Only union members can go on strike.
ME: I do not recall signing a union contract, sir.
HIM: You did. You just don't remember.
ME: I would remember.
HIM: I distracted you.
ME: Uh huh.