It's hard to put one over on the boss

"Just call me White Fang," I said to co-workers as I held a curved piece of plastic up to my mouth. I soon found out why they laughed so hard at my silliness. The boss was behind me, just inches away. I almost backed into him. Oops.

The next day the boss just happened by as a co-worker was stirring up my carefully separated M&M's. He shook his head and said he didn't want to know what we were up to.

Why is it that whenever I am doing something other than being a wonderful employee that is when the boss shows up? I never catch sight of him when I am helping a little old lady down our front steps or otherwise doing my job.

There must be some kind of secret alarm system that alerts him to when I am goofing off. Maybe there is a microchip in my morning candy. Hmmm . . . Perhaps that is why they brought back the red candies.

An unseen force keeps bringing me up short this week. And, yes, I know I'm always short. That is beside the point.

I went to the bank to cash my check today. They had several antiques on display. This is because the Tri-State Antique Engine and Tractor show will be in town this week with all of the accompanying antique lovers and garage sale addicts.

Except that quite a few of the bank's "antiques" were things similar to items we used on a daily basis when I was a child. Does that mean that I'm an antique as well?

When did that happen? I just turned 35 years old yesterday. Nevermind that my birthday is in February and I gave birth to my daughter in 1973 or that I have two beautiful grandchildren. I'm 35. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

So how do I explain the antiques? Simple. Time warp.

What do you mean there is no such thing? Einstein said that time is relative. We all know he was a genius. That explains how I can be a year younger than my daughter. It also explains how the boss knows when to sneak up behind me.

The fairgrounds here in town will be in a time warp for the rest of the week. Tractors that haven't been used to plow a field for more than 50 years will be on display. Men of all ages will contemplate days gone by as they examine old engines and other machinery. Some of them will be transported back to the days of yore when they were young and strong.

Kitchen implements similar to the ones displayed at the bank will cause young women (like myself) to remember how long it took to whip up a meringue using a hand-held egg beater. They will explain to children that the odd looking thing over there is a rug beater.

People not affected by the time warp will swarm the multitude of garage sales. They will gleefully find any number of things they can't live without. Some of these same items will be sold in ensuing years at other garage sales.

Meanwhile, I will avoid the fairgrounds like the plague. I am not a fan of garage sales but have to admit they are a superb source of baby clothes. I may get drawn in to one or two.

After the week is over the town will be strangely quiet. I am hoping it will be quiet enough that I can hear the boss sneaking up behind me before I do something else silly.[[In-content Ad]]