A Regular Day

It was going to be a regular day. Casual Friday at the office. I put on my go-to T-shirt—the one with the pizza-eating sloth in space. A favorite. A crowd-pleaser.

Until I entered the elevator with the CEO.

He looked at me. Then looked at the shirt.

Silence.

Then he said, "That sloth… reminds me of my ex-wife."

What was I going to say to that? "I'm sorry for your lost of… PIZZAAA?"

I flapped my lips and said, "She must've been extremely astronomical."

He blinked. "What?"

"Oooh Nooo," I whispered, but said out loud.

The elevator rang, and I dove practically out of it. I figured that would be the END. But no.

FATE had other plans.

~~~

During lunch, I spilled tomato soup on the sloth. Just a big red blotch right on its face. Now the sloth was murderous.

That's when the HR director happened to walk by, saw my shirt, and said,

"Interesting statement. BOLD."

"It's just a soup incident!" I shouted too loudly.

Later, I attempted to sneak into the bathroom to clean the stain, but the automatic faucet wouldn't budge. I waved. I flailed. I made interpretive dance gestures. Nothing.

Then the motion sensor suddenly worked—just as someone opened the door. And the water sprayed me right in the pants.

Perfect. Classic. A+ timing.

So now I resembled a craazyyy, soup-splattered sloth enthusiast who'd peed himself.

I went back to my desk and tied a scarf around my waist like a befuddled Renaissance peasant.

My boss strolled by and leaned in close, whispering, "You GOOD?"

"I'm thriving," I fibbed.

Just when things couldn't get any WORSE, I received an Email.

Subject: Meeting Rescheduled

Body: New time: 3 PM. With the CEO. And HR. Dress sharp.

I glanced down at Murder Sloth.

He grinned at ME.

I promise that SHIRT is hexed. But I just keep wearing it. Why? Because I love to live life on the EDGE.

And because, as usual, all of my laundry is still in the dryer.