8/90, tgip

Thank God I'm Part-time.

She was laughing at her computer screen. A loud laugh, deliberately a bit nasal, like it caught her off guard. Like she accidently clicked on the pink Cute Overload icon, like she was not expecting the dachshund puppies in knitted bonnets to pop up on her screen. This was my cue. In my year working in the office, I knew that I had several options. I could immediately walk over, be excited and crouch at her shoulder, ready to click through the album. I could turn and smile and say, "Well, that sounds exciting!"

I tired of these after the first week of work. After I was called, along with several new professors, to stand behind her while she held the dusty collage photo frame. This is the hubby. If it's true what they say, about the dogs matching the owner, I would have expected something else. The short-haired wiener dogs were a surprise, as were the smiles they were sporting in the JC Penney Photo Studio prints. Was I imagining it, or were their heads cocked just to the left, chins tucked in and shoulders drawn back?

I thought she was kidding about her "children." When Diane, who I officially work for, spoke about the Thanksgiving dinner at her daughter's house, about her son finally getting the kids for a holiday, our administrative coordinator was quick to chime in. She, too, had a rousing weekend with the kids. Maggie was so excited about her leg of the turkey--not that they make a habit of getting table scraps, but you know, a holiday is a holiday--that she actually LEFT her chew toy alone. She never leaves that toy, the little blue dog. You remember it? Oh, nevermind, I'll retell that story later. But she just loved the skin on that turkey leg, oh!

Now, 58 weeks into the afternoon office work, I hear the laugh and find it hard to turn my attention for the Travel Authorization Form I am typing. She laughs again, mumbles something about her father's crazy e-mails and waits a moment. The silence gets a bit uncomfortable, and I give in. Only a little, I say to myself. It's this giving in that makes her staying home with Maggie when she has an earache acceptable. We acknowledge it. We smile or express condolences or coo at the puppies.

I resent my part in this, but cast a sideways glance over my shoulder to the computer station behind mine. Her hand covers her mouth, a sign of delighted disbelief. I raise my eyebrows. It's a good one, huh? they say. Megan, you really need to see this.