Mid-Level Creative Bureaucrat Decides to Make Work A Little More Interesting

Before you start, I can explain:

it was a bet.

Put that face away. I know you're not surprised.

This is me we're talking about - patron saint of impulsive decisions, vice chancellor of the slippery slope, the guy for whom the phrase "hold my beer" will one day be invented.

Look, I'm sorry, okay? Does that help anything?

Can you at least...stop crying for a minute? Can we just sit down and talk about this like rational adults? Can you at least stop doing the thing with the eyes and the quivering and the -

Fine. I guess we're doing the eye thing.

I guess you could also argue it's my fault.

You just have to understand: it was a REALLY. GOOD. BET.

Because if I'd won, THEY would have had paws, and WE would've had the opposable -

I know. I know.

Yes, you told me.

Yes, I remember.

Yes, I promised. Look, I know you're mad. What can I do to make it up to you?

See, I could make that promise, but we both know how that's going to end. But really, what was I supposed to do? You have to understand what was on the line. And all I had to do was this ONE THING. And I had been PRACTIC -

Look, you reminding me every two sentences how I promised I wasn't going to bet on myself isn't doing much for my self-esteem. You're supposed to be the SUPPORTIVE big sister. I'm doing this for us! Haven't you always said we deserved better than what we were given? You're not wrong -

Okay, okay, fine. You were right and I should've never taken a bet where HE set the terms.

...but he was offering OPPOSABLE THUMBS! Think of the things we could open! THINK OF ALL THE THINGS WE COULD OPEN, SIS.

I know what we said. I know what I promised. And - you don't have to be humiliating about it. I know I lost. I just TOLD you I lost.

Oh NOW you want to know what the bet was? Now that you're all done brimming and quivering and crying you want to hear the story of how your little brother came THAT CLOSE to the ultimate prize? Well, fine. Twist my tail.

He couldn't have known how much I'd been practicing. That I was spending hours a day in single-minded pursuit of the goal. Sometimes I could feel myself just barely a breath away. I was SO CLOSE, sis. Just a little more practice, and I'd be there, any day now.

So when he caught me yesterday, snatching a near-victory from my own jaw, I knew - my time had come. This was my test. My moment. And his terms were so laughable. He gave me ten tries and I only had to win once. And then - freedom. Untold riches. Everything we could ever want. And if I lost - well, how bad could the alternative be?

Okay, okay, you don't have to start crying again. I DO see the error of my ways NOW. You don't have to - ow! I get it! The sharps are inferior to the thumbs! You've made your point! Can I just finish my story now?

*

The first four rounds were just warm-ups - a way to really get the rotation going, build up some momentum, a little speed, but it was SO CLOSE already. So close. I could see it, just out of reach, that blurry flick of -

- what, him? What was he doing? I believe he was laughing. Why does it matter?

Um, I distinctly do remember the words, "Come over here guys, he really thinks this is it, he's going to catch it this time, look!"

They laughed, too. The other guys, I guess. And then they told him his reports were late and that come on, they were supposed to be finished with the design plans already, and they already knew the opposable thumbs weren't happening, BUT...

...no, it didn't occur to me that the house always wins because it DOESN'T, SIS. Sometimes the little guys -

fine. Not this time.

One day, though. One day.