The Vacation that Wasn't

You can't enjoy a vacation if you're determined to torture yourself with worry, regret and recrimination every minute of every day, as I discovered this week.

See, I discovered that I made a huge boo-boo at work the day before I was planning to take a vacation. The error involved a contract with a hotel I signed on behalf of the office for a conference in another city. Through sheer ego, I didn't review the contract as closely as I should have. I've signed this sort of contract a hundred times before for conferences of up to a thousand people, and this was just a simple meeting of about 60. No prob. No sweat. But I completely passed over a certain clause about attrition of rooms, and on Monday, I received an invoice I wasn't expecting for many thousands of dollars.

I about had a heart attack at my desk. I could feel the hand of death grip my heart and squeeze. I would've puked into my trash can if I had eaten lunch. I saw my career flash in front of my eyes, my reputation burning and crashing. It was an intense moment.

My boss was on vacation so I had to go to her boss, and it wasn't an easy trip down the hall for me. He has the reputation of a recently-castrated-without-anesthetic pit bull, quick to bark, quick to gnash his teeth, quick to rip an arm off. I stopped off at every candy bowl along the hallway, stuffing easter candy in my mouth as fast as possible, gulping jelly beans in a futile attempt to experience one more good moment before my execution.

"Can I see you for just a moment?"
"Sure, come in."
"Well, I've really screwed up."

And then I tell the story. Bossman shows no emotion - no shock, no dismay, no disgust, no temper. He just says, "Well, see what you can do - call the hotel, and don't worry, so long as you learned something." I about hit the floor with relief.

I called the hotel and discovered that some of the rooms booked weren't credited to the block, so the number isn't as bad as originally presented, but it's still many thousands of dollars.

Then, before it was completely resolved, I left on vacation, a few days off just to enjoy the springtime, hang at the jacuzzi, move my furniture around, that sort of thing.

Trouble is, all I could think of was this horrible mistake, this trashing of my reputation, this financial burden, this moment of ego gone wrong. And I dreaded the reaction to the e-mail I needed to write to my boss, explaining everything so that she wasn't blindsided by my blunder first thing Monday morning.

I wrote the email today. Then I sat trembling on the sofa. Just to set the scene: my boss's nickname among her colleagues is a reworking of her last name to rhyme with Terminator. Let's just say she has a reputation. She's great with me, always thanking me and calling me darling, I love her forthrightness and work with her well, but then again, I've never been on the receiving end of her short temper, her frustration. I figured this was the moment when the tide turned, when I was no longer her prized assistant, no longer the Steve she seemed to brag about to one and all.

About an hour later, she called me, her familiar bark.

"Well, there goes your bonus."

Then she laughed.

She couldn't have been more kind and calming. She said we all make mistakes, all we can do is learn from them, that we can cover it in the budget no problem, that she should've looked the contract over herself, that I'm not paid to take that sort of risk, that she totally trusts me and relies on me, but that she is ultimately responsible and that I should remember that she's in my corner. And so on. She even confessed a gargantuan financial mistake she herself made many years ago to show me it happens to the best of us. In a word, it was a perfect response, better than I could ever have hoped, and the relief flooded over me to the point where I was giddy, dancing around the house afterward, floating on air, trilling like a Disney princess.

It was like fearing an attack from a lion and instead being licked and groomed, calmed by the loud purring. I never felt so supported in my life.

Now the rest of today is truly a vacation, a relief from self torment. And I realize, it's all right to make a mistake once in a while, I don't need to flagellate myself, even when it's a biggie.

And I could sure use another vacation!

I've been swimming lately

Fat Kid Successfully Avoids Ridicule By Swimming With Shirt On

. . . and I've adopted this boy's brilliant concept to avoid ridicule. So far it's working!!! I wear a black t-shirt, but whatever . . .

Oopsy doodley doo!

Okay, it seems monkey boy has been playing with the prosties. And another political wife has to endure probably the most painful moment required (next to a crawl over the hood to grab a piece of brain a'la Jackie K.) - playing the stoic, silent, miserable stand-by-her-man wifey at the podium while the bastard insincerely begs forgiveness for - get this - "Not living up to the (ridiculously) high standards I set for myself." If I see one more stoic wife made to endure this crap for the good of the man's future career, I'll shoot myself.

It looks like Mrs. Spitzer is gonna hurl the gumbo Mr. Spitzer is trying to swallow.

Then she has to hold his juice-covered hand as they step off the stage.

C'mon, ladies, it's time to stop this bullshit. Just say it plain, "My husband betrayed me and I hate his guts and I'm gonna drop the ass-licking tittie sucker as soon as I call my lawyer."

Enough.