Stephen stepped out of the shower; ready to start another day of the grind. Grabbing a towel, he headed into the bedroom. Now in his mid sixties, he didn’t know how he’s lasted this long in the thankless daily humdrum. No one ever truly loves his or her job if they’re being honest with themselves; they just give up their dreams and get a ticket on the daily Rat Race bus. Well, almost no one. His rat faced boss certainly seemed to enjoy his job.
Stephen! Order me lunch!
Stephen! Make sure you tell them dressing on the side this time!
Stephen! Fax this for me!
Stephen! Make ten copies of this and distribute it before lunchtime! Oh—finish your lunch first—of course.
Did the man ever do anything for himself? In the age of today’s economy, the trend followed suit. Businesses had to cut down on payroll expenses and milk every last ounce from their employees, not to mention their dignity. But he wasn’t hired as a Personal Assistant. He was the freakin’ accountant for Christ’s sake! Personal Bitch 101 wasn’t part of his curriculum.
Even getting dressed was part of the mundane task, same cloths, same closet, the same everything, every freakin’ morning. If he’d only followed his dream and become a writer, then he’d be happy even if he ended up poor.
“Babe—did you pick up my dry cleaning?” he asked Tabitha his college sweetheart turned wife, as he finished toweling off.
“Yup. It’s right next to Mister Bones there, hanging in the closet,” she said, referring to the actual full-scale skeleton hanging in the closet.
He snickered, “You know that’s Mrs. Beasley.”
“Ah—yeah. You’ve mentioned that a few times—gettin’ a little old. Don’t you think it’s time to get rid of it? I’m sure there’s a nice science lab out there for it somewhere.”
“I like Mrs. Beasley right where she is! Cummon’ hurry up and pick me out something before I’m late.”
“Relax! Isn’t Mr. Rizzo’s on vaca? What’s that make it? Three weeks now? Who will scream your name? Other than me?” she asked, slapping his bare butt cheek.
“Hey,” he laughed, “forget it I’ll get it myself!” He pushed past her covering his butt as he pulled out the navy suit, accidentally hooking the skeleton and causing it to topple out of the closet. “Damn it!”
“Even Mrs. Beasley is getting tired of hanging around!”
“Ha ha. Can you fix her? I’m really late and I have an early meeting,” he said returning the slap.
Tabitha bent down to pick up the skeleton and noticed Stephen’s old high school yearbook had been knocked out the box beneath the old bones. Splayed open on the school counselor’s page, the inscription was penned as follows:
Writing stories is good fun, but you’ll never get anywhere without a good solid job. Stick to the plan we discussed in counseling and you’ll be a happy accountant before you know it.
Tabitha carefully hung the bones back up and slowly closed the closet door.