TMI Sunday (a Mad Spaghetti Goes Corporate Story)

In two years at my new job there is one thing in particular that has remained constant. That is, my boss and I don't do personal conversation, or more accurately my boss does not do personal conversation. We all know I do. Strangely, here lately he has begun to ask me personal questions.

It frightens me.

It is outside of the natural order of things.

Not that I mind. Not really. It just creeps me out a bit that he suddenly wants to have some sort of relationship. That being said, I'm proud of him for trying.

But on to my point. This past week I had an unfortunate go-round with some sort of intestinal bug. I emailed him that morning to say my tums was upset and that I'd be working from home when I could. My desk (which sits outside of his office door) is on the opposite back corner from the bathroom and no way was I going in to the office with the screamers.

At any rate, that next day he looks at me and says, "So what happened to you yesterday?"

Needless to say I was not only frustrated that my "I've got an upset stomach" explanation wasn't enough, but I also was shocked that he was making personal conversation. I've been known to talk rather freely anyway (broken filter anyone?) and... well... he asked. He doesn't know me well enough to know that if he doesn't want to know he ought not ask.

So I got to rolling. I was in rare form anyway, and once I got going there was no stopping. Next thing I knew I was telling him about how when I disappeared the other day it was because I had a case of the raging... er... Well, you know. Not in those exact words, of course. I went on about some of the various and sundry details of my gastronomical distress. Then (remember, faulty filter) I found myself telling him about how I'd told the two people who sit nearest to me that if they saw me running to just get out of the way.

"It was a real situation", I said.

At that point I realized that the little boy inside of him was cowering in the corners of his mind with his little hands over his ears. He was at that moment rocking himself and crying, "Mommy, please make her stop!"

I could actually FEEL him begging me, for the love of God woman, to stop. His eyes were as big as saucers and he was desperately looking around to see if there was somewhere he could go to get away from me. I think if he could have run he would have, but I stood between him and the door. I could smell the panic on him.

I couldn't help it. He had that skeptical look on his face. You know the one, right? The one they give when they think maybe you're not sick and are just playing hooky? That one. As a result I turned into "The Overexplainer".

Well, I don't ever call in sick if I'm not sick. It's this rule I have.

I'm reasonably sure that he believes me now. I am also equally certain that he won't be making any personal conversation with me any time soon. At least not until his little inner child has recovered from our last exchange, if he ever does.