I am a big believer in keeping up with current events. I listen to NPR, check out the headlines on the reliable interweb, and a couple of news emails make their way into my inbox every day. And I cannot say enough about the Daily Mail UK- hilarious stuff. I do all of this far, far away from my children to spare them from anything remotely questionable… and to offer all of us the occasional well-needed break from each other.
So, I really did not expect to be sabotaged when lying on the back porch settee with my children on a fine Sunday morning, listening to a local radio station’s “Songs from the Big Hair” 80’s music show. There we were happily listening to Rockwell’s “Somebody’s Watching Me” and laughing at the singer’s level of paranoia. I shall regale you with the brilliant lyrics that were repeated once the song was over, as an intro to the DJ’s thought-provoking commentary on the state of employment today- the statement that would throw my life into a tailspin after I suffered a mild form of whiplash looking up in horror at the treacherous speaker blurting out the inappropriate. I failed us all at that moment as I couId not protect my children. Why? Because I do not have the core strength to chuck two children off me and leap up with the speed of a thousand Bruce Jenners circa 1976 (who could have accomplished this in heels with one well groomed hand tied behind his back) to race inside and turn off that damnable music box. Here we go. Hum along as you read!
Tell me who’s watching
Who’s watching me?
I’m just an average man, with an average life
I work from nine to five; hey hell, I pay the price…”
DJ’s clever comment: “this is how that poor fool in Illinois feels who mistakenly sent naked selfies of himself to the HR Director. I know, right? We all know who’s watching you now, buddy, but you ain’t gonna be working nine to five anymore! I have heard of cocking up an interview, but this seems a bit excessive….”
I hoped- as I screamed-ran-slipped across the porch, through the door, careening to the radio- that the kids would miss the DJ’s analysis of workplace etiquette, but alas, they heard it all. All.
As I returned to the settee to the giggling children who were now discussing nudity in full detail, I suppressed the desire to weep. I knew the jig was up. No deflection was every going to erase what they had heard. This, my dear readers, is another important strategy in the war against unsavory information. When the battle is lost, bury your dead and prepare for the next skirmish. Trying to fight further will only erode your credibility before your kids’ ever-critical eyes, and unnecessarily deplete you of ammo you could use later.
“So, I guess you guys heard it all, huh?” Gales of laughter. “OK, well, just remember to thank that man from Illinois when you don’t get a cellphone. Ever. And mommy loves you.” Nothing left to do but sit in silence. Which is golden.