“If I go into HR, what kind of an HR person do you think I’d be?” The Wife asks me.
The factually correct answer is, “A stickler for the rules. You really like rules and it really bugs you when other people don’t follow them or manipulate them for something beyond their intent.” But is that the maritally correct answer, the one I should give?
I spend too long thinking that and not enough time answering. So I get, “It’s okay. You can tell me!”
So now I’m cornered and I have only one play available — humor. “You’d be mean. At least, that’s what people would think of you, and you’d suspect more of them were trying to cheat the company than not.”
She laughs. Whew! “You’re probably right.” And the Neo-dodges-a-bullet award goes to… TL!!
This ought to be an Olympic event: the loaded question slalom. I’m pretty good, unless I’m tired or distracted. In those cases I have to pay the penalty: an hour of covering, backtracking, and reformulating. This is followed by the sucker punch the next day when I’ve forgotten all about it, but she hasn’t. Then there’s another ten minutes of loud protestations of innocent intent. A third hit can come at any time, even weeks later, months later, so you end up in a permanent cringe, which is where wives like us.
so rad
The loaded question of all time is, “do I look fat in this dress.”All HR people were hall monitors.