Cynical me

Just call me cynical, but I'm not one of those who automatically believes everything I'm being told.  Here's an example.  Last evening we had a female customer come to the paint desk and order 12 gallons of our most expensive paint in different colors.  That's a nice sale, let me tell you.  However, every color needed to be adjusted down.  She had paint swatches stapled on top of paint swatches and scribbled notes on all of them.  Three of the swatches had no notes because she'd just pulled them from the 'color wall.'  As she handed them to me she said, "this one needs to be adjusted down 65%,  this one 75%, and this one adjust down as much as possible."  When I told her there was no way of telling how what they would look like, she said, "it doesn't make a difference, they just need to be adjusted."

She then asked about 'frosting' applications for windows.  One of my female associates took her back to show her what we had.  When my associate came front I said to her "that woman has special needs."  My associate said, "but you don't know, she has a teenage daughter who's quadriplegic, she, herself, has Lyme Disease and my possibly lose her arm, and they've been evicted from their home because of mold."  "Right," I responded cynically.  At this point the customer returned to the paint desk and said, in a very rushed voice, "I can't wait for my paint to be finished.  I need to go home.  My caregiver is leaving."  And I said "your paint is finished, let me load it in your cart for you."

After the customer had left the desk, my female associate said, "oh, that poor, poor woman."  And I said, "that woman is nuttier then a fruit cake, and she just handed you a slice."  It was either that or she was trying to get free paint.  Ah, just call me cynical.

Close shave

I'm off today.  That means my daily routine is more relaxed.  There is no set time for me to get up, and when I do, things get done at my own speed.  Sometimes I shave on days off and sometimes I don't.  This morning I decided to shave.  I keep my razor and shaving cream on a small table in a walk-in closet off of the bathroom.  So, I pulled them out and set them on the sink and went on to enjoy a long, hot shower.  Stepping out of the shower, I lathered my face with shaving cream only to discover the razor seemed to have gone missing.  Shit.  Wrapping the towel around me, I began looking for it, first of all verifying that I did, indeed, take it from the table in the closet.  Then I padded down the hall.  Checking the computer room / gym and still finding nothing, I proceeded to the bedroom. There, on the bed, I found the razor... well, not the whole razor, just the handle.  Shit.

The razor

As you can see, it's been chewed up...  And of course I knew exactly who to blame, Lilly, the little Boxer.  So I started the search for the blades.  As I looked, I knew there was a distinct possibility I might be calling the Vet.  And I began to wonder what the cost of x-rays would be, and if they did prove she'd swallowed the blades, what the cost of the surgery would be, and, while I have no problem with the expense, this is not the way I prefer to have points put on my Amazon credit card.  While I could write a check, I hate taking that much money out of the bank, so I decided earning the points would be better.  As you can tell by my thinking process, and while I do say "shit" a lot, I am not one who panics, at all. This is why, when anything serious does happen, I am the one everybody calls.

The culprit

So I wiped the shaving cream from my face, got dressed, and went down stairs.  There, on the living room carpet, were the razor blades, chewed but still intact in their plastic sheathing.  I checked Lilly's mouth and it was fine, no nicks or cuts.  The end result?  My razor is now in the trash and I'm back to using my Braun shaver.  Dogs.  Do you think Lilly realizes how close a shave she had?  Not at all.