Besides that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play? *

Friday started off as your normal super sucky day …

First an email that I would rather have not received. Then off to work. Then a conference call with a customer, a group of engineers pretty much as lame as any I have come across. They keep finding problems with “my thing” (mind you, they have one thing from me, and my least expensive) which turn out to be their stupidity. Every few days they call, usually with some boss on the phone, I end up asking one question and they end the call realizing they are, well, not bright. Then I get a call for lunch. Sounds good, huh? Yeah, a friend’s mom is in town, wants to have lunch. Just so happens, she was my first girlfriend (yes, first, as in f-i-r-s-t) and we dated again a couple of years ago. Then back to work.

So the day was dandy. Then I get home.

I need to show you something.

Not how you want the nanny to greet you. She showed me Pearlsky’s arms. Seeing how a picture is worth a thousands words (has anyone really counted?) here goes:

weltThat is her forearm. That is a welt. The white part? About a quarter of an inch raised above the red part. And you know what’s worse? She has a matching one on the other arm.

I turn to the nanny and say …

You need to start talking.

She explains that the aide on the bus said that they tried some contraptions to stop Pearlsky from doing the one thing she enjoys AND the one thing she can control, putting her fingers in her mouth. I would say whatever the contraption was, well, maybe not the best idea, huh?

Then the following email was sent (as of now, no response) …

So how exactly did Pearlsky get these welts?

I have to take her to the hospital Monday morning and I am going to be asked about this, and that won’t be pretty. Please explain.

So, how was the play?

* For those who may not get the reference, one of our beloved presidents, Abraham Lincoln, was assassinated in 1865 while sitting with his wife, watching the play “Our American Cousin.” The expression has evolved for such a day as mine, which even I admit, was a tad better than getting shot in the head with a single-shot, round-ball .44 caliber (11 mm) Derringer at point-blank range. Or, maybe not …


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