Two minature grizzled old prospectors sit on the corner of my desk at work, chewing tobacco and watching me work.
"Blizzard's a-ragin' outside."
"Yep, reckon 'tis."
Leans towards spittoon - clang.
"Pilin' on up yonder. I think she's fixin' to go home early and work from the confines of that there apartment."
"Seems that way. With all them vermins."
"Cats. They're cats, not rodents."
"Makes no matter to me. So should we give her a good scare before she leaves? Rustle'er up a bit?"
"Yessir. Let's wrangle up that pump site and shift it off course like a tumbleweed makin' its way through the desert."
"She's wearin' jeans, Old Timer. Let's rub the seam of the jeans against her infusion set until it spins a bit and comes loose from the site."
The piano stops playing abruptly.
"You mean you want to stop that there insulin from gettin' in her?"
"Okay, but just for a few minutes. Just so she gets all riled up and has a little ol' fit. A-hee hee hee!"
Kerri: So I uncross my legs while sitting at my desk and notice that I could feel the cap of my site scraping against my jeans. How the heck did that happen? After a quick consultation with my thigh in the ladies' room, I noticed that the tubing had come loose from the hub of the set, leaving me without insulin. I checked my blood sugar and saw a harmless 87 mg/dl, so there was no need to freak out.
Then I noticed the two minature grizzled old prospectors with their spittoon, sitting on the corner of my desk. I'd been done hornswoggled.
It was as this point that I decided I was burnt out and needed the weekend.