Bend me, shape me...
Words from a Bird. Day 126.
It was a big day for me in Binland on Tuesday. Having been employed through an agency for the past sixteen months, the company, which I have grown to love, decided that it might be a good idea to keep me for good. This was the best news ever, and I came into work on Tuesday with a big smile on my face, knowing that it wasn't going to be too easy for them to get rid of me now. I was here to stay...
My manager, who you might remember is roughly half my age, mentioned in passing that I needed to have a medical. Our eyes locked across the cramped office....was he going to ask the embarrassing questions/take the readings/measure things? Apparently not. A third party would ask me all the relevant questions over the internet. There wasn't any need for clothing to be removed or blushing.
Actually I am not too sure who would have been more embarrassed if he had to have done the medical. I may look like a well turned out middle aged lady, but beneath it all is a mass of latex, spandex and vacuum knickers. My underwear is a feat of engineering which should really be added to the Seven Wonders of the World for what it achieves on a daily basis.
So having rattled through the fairly straightforward questions, it would appear that I am 'fit to work'. Having been employed for the past 40 years, I am now questioning whether I should have worked at all. Perhaps it has taken that long to be fit? Who knows...
But I have reached the conclusion today that going permanent is the equivalent of moving in with someone you have been dating.
Going back to the near-miss medical, living with someone means that certain things become public knowledge. When you are merely dating, you can avoid seeing the other half on the day you are having your upper lip waxed - I look like the driver from the Ant Hill Mob (Wacky Races for those old enough to remember!) after this has been done, and I can only avoid the husband for so long before he asks me whether I really need to be wearing a balaclava in June.
Dating means you have time to hide purchases, only pulling them out a couple of weeks later exclaiming 'What, this old thing?' when interrogated by the other half. It also means that you can always look your best, and never have grey roots, stubbly legs or a chipped nail.
However, they are positives. In my relationship, I know that the husband has seen me at my very best and my extreme worst, and still he chooses to come home every night and tell me that he loves me.
I'm not expecting anyone at Binland to tell me that they love me......but employing me permanently means that somewhere along the line, I did OK.
And for a 53 year old lady in vacuum knickers, that will do nicely...
It was a big day for me in Binland on Tuesday. Having been employed through an agency for the past sixteen months, the company, which I have grown to love, decided that it might be a good idea to keep me for good. This was the best news ever, and I came into work on Tuesday with a big smile on my face, knowing that it wasn't going to be too easy for them to get rid of me now. I was here to stay...
My manager, who you might remember is roughly half my age, mentioned in passing that I needed to have a medical. Our eyes locked across the cramped office....was he going to ask the embarrassing questions/take the readings/measure things? Apparently not. A third party would ask me all the relevant questions over the internet. There wasn't any need for clothing to be removed or blushing.
Actually I am not too sure who would have been more embarrassed if he had to have done the medical. I may look like a well turned out middle aged lady, but beneath it all is a mass of latex, spandex and vacuum knickers. My underwear is a feat of engineering which should really be added to the Seven Wonders of the World for what it achieves on a daily basis.
So having rattled through the fairly straightforward questions, it would appear that I am 'fit to work'. Having been employed for the past 40 years, I am now questioning whether I should have worked at all. Perhaps it has taken that long to be fit? Who knows...
But I have reached the conclusion today that going permanent is the equivalent of moving in with someone you have been dating.
Going back to the near-miss medical, living with someone means that certain things become public knowledge. When you are merely dating, you can avoid seeing the other half on the day you are having your upper lip waxed - I look like the driver from the Ant Hill Mob (Wacky Races for those old enough to remember!) after this has been done, and I can only avoid the husband for so long before he asks me whether I really need to be wearing a balaclava in June.
Dating means you have time to hide purchases, only pulling them out a couple of weeks later exclaiming 'What, this old thing?' when interrogated by the other half. It also means that you can always look your best, and never have grey roots, stubbly legs or a chipped nail.
However, they are positives. In my relationship, I know that the husband has seen me at my very best and my extreme worst, and still he chooses to come home every night and tell me that he loves me.
I'm not expecting anyone at Binland to tell me that they love me......but employing me permanently means that somewhere along the line, I did OK.
And for a 53 year old lady in vacuum knickers, that will do nicely...
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