Escape

That is what it was.

Pure escapism. Where no one expects anything from you. Where each second of the day, you define what it is you do. What it is your feel.

Where no one cares that you didn't get out of bed until 1 p.m. Or that you're eating breakfast at a local cafe at 2 p.m. Or that technically, you don't even eat lunch.

Where a little pink on the tip of your nose and your cheekbones and your forehead and your shoulders is the best makeup a girl can wear.

Where strong hands massage little knots out of your neck and make you feel heavenly.

Where everything is about you. Well, that is, about me.

I needed the escape.

I was content in the escape.

*****

The nature of an escape, though, is that it is someplace you go to temporarily to get away from real life, though. The key term there is temporarily. There is no permanent escape.

So what the heck does a girl do then?

You love the hell out of your escape while you're in it.

Then you wave goodbye at it when the sun sets, and you go back to life.

*****

There was a welcome home poster from Son #1. The trees are starting to be fat with their new green leaves. The rhododendrons blossomed while I was away and now have big fat flowers in all shades of pink. Even the sun is trying to come through our rain today.

And I got a big warm hug when I woke up this morning.

*****

I miss my escape already.

But if you get a small escape now and then, life is pretty good the rest of the time . . .

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Bring Me the Amoxicillin . . .

So in the middle of this hectic week, life decided to remind me that at the end of the day, I'm still a mom. Son #2 came down with an ear infection. The pain caused a sobbing breakdown this morning which convinced me to head to the ER. Hoping my husband could pull some strings.

It doesn't hurt to be married to a Lt. Colonel. He managed to trade some expedited ER service for an expedited CT scan . . . bottom line was we got the little man in and out faster than you can imagine. No waiting in the ER waiting room with the other sickies. Diagnosed and prescribed before they even finished taking his vitals. Thank you, honey.

Of course, being a mom, I could have made this diagnosis without the degree. I'm just saying . . .

*****

Downside is that he doesn't have the same pull with pharmacy. So we took at number (187) and waited (they were on 130). As we waited, his pain increased. His sobbing increased. His tolerance for anything decreased.

Don't touch me. Don't talk to me. When is our number going to be called? Why is this taking so long? Don't keep asking me questions. I already said that. I don't want to say that again. My ear hurts. When is our number going to be called?

He was doing it in his loudest voice. I was getting some annoyed looks, but most were sympathetic. I happened to catch one woman's eye and she smiled, very sympathetically.

And then, it happened. I started to giggle. And he got more pathetic. Which only gave me the giggles more. I mean, I couldn't have scripted this level of patheticness. So I giggled more. And he sobbed and complained louder. And finally, I was giggling so much, tears were coming out of my eyes.

He turned to me and said, in his most pathetic voice (which he had perfected, by this point) "What are you laughing at, Mom?"

The man next to me said "She's laughing at me." Son #2 didn't buy it.

I said "I'm laughing at a joke." He looked at me with his sad face and said "I HATE jokes."

Which just made me giggle harder.

I managed to compose myself before they called my number, and we got our prescriptions without further incident. Fifteen minutes after an initial dose of them all, he was in a sprightly mood and playing his GameBoy. That is the beauty of children . . .

*****

So now my child is fed, medicated, watching cartoons, and hanging with the au pair. I'm on my way back to the office.

To deal with the rest of the children.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Balls The Size Of . . .

Gee, Mrs. Chako, why have you been so delinquent in posting? We miss you. Well some of us do. What gives?

*****

Let me tell you what gives, loyal readers. Work has CONSUMED me. I've got some very pressing deadlines and some very unsophisticated clients. Which means many late nights. Work all last weekend. I'll survive, I think . . . and my dear, dear hubby has graciously given me leave to be selfish this weekend . . . Don't tell anyone at work, but I will be elaxing-ray at an a-spay. Shhhhhh . . .

So I just have to make it to the weekend. Which is doable. Unless I get sent to jail for killing this guy . . .

*****

I get an e-mail today from a staff. Regarding his performance evaluation. He thought he deserved significantly higher ratings than I gave him. Some excerpts from his e-mail include (my commentary in italics):

• As *JOE BLOW* was in the best role . . . to rate me . . . (Even though he was a temporary guy from another country and had his own performance issues, he is CLEARLY more competent at evaluating my excellence in this matter, Mrs. Chako)
• . . . the goal was to somehow transfer his comments/ratings into the [system] (not for you to actually critically evaluate what he wrote and make sure it fits into reality)
• I think *JOE BLOW'S* ratings better reflect my performance and, more importantly, are a more accurate source given the time that he spent with my work (Who cares if you spent hours reviewing and revising my work; you're an executive . . . what could you know about my performance?)
• I don't want to come across as a "bratty" staff (You do) but I do feel that ratings in which he gave me should be used (because, frankly, I don't like the ones you gave me)

He had the nerve to suggest that maybe if I didn't agree with the ratings, I should just submit them anyway, and just say that I was completing the form for JOE BLOW.

To complicate his already treacherous position, he had the nerve to actually have JOE BLOW submit a different review (after I'd already spent time to complete one), hoping to get that one through. Pity for him I'm still listed as a second-level reviewer.

Now I am not a hierarchy Nazi (is it ok to use that term, as a Jew?). But keep in mind this guy is 3 levels below me and 14 years my junior in career experience. I have the power and connections to make his life HELL, should I choose to spend the energy. Without overstating my own importance, you have to have ENORMOUS balls to take me to task like this. Perhaps "career longevity" within the firm is not really his objective.

Looks like Mrs. Chako is going to have to take some young man out back of the proverbial woodshed and lay down some performance evaluation smack on his shiny, little, egotistical bottom.

Only question is . . . Do I wear the red shoes?

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

The Numbers Game

Son #2 plays a numbers game with me.

It starts with "I love you."

Then he says "I love you 40."

Then I say "I love you 100."

And then he says "I love you 200."

Then I say "I love you 300."

Then he says "I love you 80" (he's not an accountant and he's five - he's still working on large numbers).

I love our numbers game.

* * * * *

Only an accountant can mix love and numbers . . .

The Numbers Game

One thousand kisses
Your offer given, it touches my heart.
Wanting more, I say, “It’s just a start.”
Two thousand kisses
No hesitation, you concede to me.
Two thousand granted; and if I want three?
Three thousand kisses
Is three enough? I’ll just want more.
I push the limit; I whisper “Four . . .”
Four thousand kisses
Overwhelming, intoxicating, heady stuff.
My heart stutters; I push – “never enough”
Five thousand kisses
I test you: six, seven, eight, nine, ten . . .
Wishes granted, over and over again.

So I’ll wrap my arms ‘round your neck,
You put your hands on my hips,
I’ll begin a long, slow count
As you rain kisses on my lips.

My heart is yours, each kiss a claim;
You win, I win, the numbers game.

* * * * *

OK, now I have to go play the real numbers game . . . lunch is over.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

A Love So Deep . . .

We have a loving family. Our children are open and free with their affection; I hope that never stops. Kisses and hugs abound in our household. Those of you who met me know that this holds true outside of our household as well.

Son #2 has developed a morning ritual when I leave that involves a complicated series of hugs, kisses, blowing kisses, throwing kisses, throwing hugs, standing in the window waving madly as I drive down the driveway, mouthing an exaggerated "I love you" . . . it's a long, involved process. That often results in tears if something interrupts or thwarts the process at a key point.

Today the ritual was the same . . . except he threw in this funny little jig as he stood in front of the window. As he stood there in his cartoon undies, waving and kissing and dancing, I suddenly realized why today's ritual included this complicated dance.

I mouthed "Go potty" and started pointing frantically toward the bathroom as I door as I drove away. He either reads lips well, or the call of nature was too strong . . . he ran, still waving frantically and blowing kisses as he did.

Mommy love trumps bodily functions, every time.

How many of you can say you love someone that much?

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Bankroll Management . . .

My version of bankroll management . . .

Enter free tournaments . . . try to win seats to money tournaments . . .

Winna!

PokerStars Tournament #83583926, No Limit Hold'emFreeroll Super Satellite
11781 players
Target Tournament #83461393
99 tickets to the target tournament
Tournament started - 2008/04/12 - 01:32:00 (ET)

Dear Mrs Chako,You finished the tournament in 64th place.

Could have done better, but once you get to 99th, and your M is 2, you just gotta go with it!

See you at the money table!

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Madame Chako's Guide to the Stars . . .

And now, your personalized astrology guide for the week ahead, courtesy of Madame Chako . . . wife, mother, accountant, and divinely-inspired spiritual guide.

GENERAL: Do your taxes. Say bad things about the government. But don't cheat the government. Go out and smell the flowers. Clean out your closets. Come out of the closet. Wear cute shoes. Do something nice for a friend. Like wash their new Lexus.

• Aries: You will leave responsibility far behind and feel free for a few days. The illusion is only temporary. Your responsibilities await you, with some extra thrown in. Guard your bankroll; she's only in it for the money. Buy your wife something nice.
• Taurus: They don't call you the bull for nothing. You will be rewarded for your persistence and for taking life's administrative burdens by the horns. Keep your phone close; someone special may call.
• Gemini: Your heart is heavy, but those who love you will share your heart's burden. Show the world your happy face; the prayers of friends will tend to the sad face on the inside.
• Cancer: Share your fairy-tale thoughts with that someone special. Whether they can act on them now or not, you might find you are more like-minded than you imagined. Don't forget that you are powerful.
• Leo: I don't have a read on you. I don't know many Leo's at all. But I think lions are pretty. Pretty kitty . . .
• Virgo: This is a time of self-reflection. Quite introspection. And time to clean your room. Stop picking on your little brother. Listen to your mother this week.
• Libra: Your sweet-nature and easy smile wins people over quickly. But don't push your luck. Or someone may lose patience quickly. Don't forget to tell your mother you love her. Or that you love her 40. Or maybe 80. 80 is bigger.
• Scorpio: You never cease to amaze people. Although you are probably working too hard. But you look fabulous. And you have amazing taste in shoes. No news is good news. You have the power to make people feel whatever you want them to feel. Finish your taxes. Don't nag your spouse. Except about getting the taxes done.
• Sagittarius: You have the power to draw people in. Don't forget that power can also push them away, if you take it for granted. Let your voice be heard. It only takes a few words. The key is to relax. Seek contentment.
• Capricorn: Must suck to be you . . . birthday right around the holidays and the new year . . . do you get any attention? Get some now. You're due.
• Aquarius: The energy, the intensity . . . you possess this now. Take advantage. Reconnect. You may be surprised. Engage a friend in some dialogue. They might have a few good points to share.
• Pisces: You have come into your own this past week - move forward with purpose. Take your friends with you on this ride. They will appreciate your steadfastness, honesty, and good advice, even when it stings. Buy more shoes.

You can thank me later for this good advice.

Respectfully submitted,

Madame Chako (astro-visionary)

Thank God No One Got Hurt . . .

Last night, the hubby was in Vegas. So I did girly things. Well, I worked late. Which is kind of manly. But then when I came home, I did girly things. Put on my girlie nightie. Got some girly snacks. Painted my girly nails. Which look fabulous.

Oh, and fired up a little free-money online poker . . . brush up on the skills. Especially after that beat in the home game. Make sure I'm not losing it.

I'm playing my normal conservative self in one of the free 3 table NLHE SNG. After a little up, little down, I finally wind up with pocket 10s. I raise. Dork next to me re-raises. Dork after him re-re-raises. I have them both out-chipped and they have been playing remarkably stupid. So I go all in. Both call.

Player to my left has A5 suited. Player to my right has AQ unsuited. I'm happy now - just dodging the last two aces and the queens.

Flop comes K-J-4. Makes me nervous. Gives AQ guy a straight draw. Now I don't want that other 10. Turn come K. Now the 10 would be fine. Give me a full house. I'm feeling pretty good . . . no much can ruin things now . . .

Except another J. You guessed. Morons split the pot with the two pair (Ks and Js) with Ace kicker.

So now I'm low stack. Like 23rd. But I'm good at low stack. Is it the "Dank" position, IT? So I do it . . . pot after pot, some little, some big, I build my chip stack back . . . find myself in 5th place at the final table.

Now I'm small blind and I find pocket 8s. Some other guy in early position calls, and chip leader is to my left in the big blind. I just call this one, figure I'll play after the flop. Big blind chip leader goes all in. Now this is an erratic play. Figure he's pushing buttons. The early position caller now goes all in. I have him outchipped by as much as he has in front of him. So I'm thinking what my play should be. If I have a made hand against EP guy, I think I have him beat. I think big blind chip leader is being chip leader. I pause a moment and think "maybe this isn't my race . . . " but call anyway. In my head, I'm thinking I'm really in a race against EP guy.

All cards turn and EP guy has AQ - big blind chip leader has pocket 10s and I have pocket 8s. Flop comes A-Q-10. I'm so out. Need a miracle now. Not only does the miracle not show, but the turn actually brings the chip leader ANOTHER 10. For the 4 of a kind.

Mrs. Chako goes to bed now.

Should have listened to myself. Oh well . . . play money . . . and no one got hurt.

Off to do more girly things.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Two Times is a Charm

The husband and I decided to have a nice welcome home dinner . . . 3 weeks later, or something like that. It's been busy.

Given our previous experience, we decided that since Daniel's Broiler had been such a fantastic place to send DrChako off on his trip to the sandbox, why not welcome him home with a monster steak dinner there too? We stopped in to see our favorite manager. DrChako even brought him one of those special flags, like Rooster got when he won the December blogger tourney.

So we start dinner and they bring over a complimentary bottle of champagne. How sweet. We eat, we enjoy . . . steak and lobster, salads, the whole bit. A little wine on the side. We're so full, we don't even have room for dessert. Ask Ken, our absolutely professional waiter for the check . . . and he presents . . . empty hands. Complimentary. On the house. For the second time in a row.

We are in awe. That is two $300 dinners we've eaten in less than a year gratis . . . on the house. They really know how to put the "special" in a special occasion dinner.

Needless to say, in addition to the post-steak bliss, we're delighted at the kind of service you can get from a good restaurant. Though on my way home, the frugal girl in me came out . . . I suggested we try the "my first dinner back from Iraq" thing at a few other top end restaurants. Couldn't hurt . . .

Now I gotta sign off and go find my hubby . . . he leaves for Vegas tomorrow. I think I gotta remind him that he can get at home what those other girls will make him pay for in Vegas . . . and they won't do his taxes for free, either.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star . . .

We may need to put an addition on to the Chako household. Our pad was already barely big enough to contain the massive (and growing) egos of the Chako family . . . now, apparently, I'm living with a decorated combat veteran.

Bronze star. One of the highest awards given for military combat service, short of having your ass directly in the line of fire. Sheesh. Like the Dr. needed one more thing to make his head swell.

For those of you who know him, he's a fine man. He's also a fine soldier. And, thankfully, a solider returned to his family in one piece.

If you haven't already headed over to his site to wish him congratulations, please do so.

Regardless of how hard it will be live with him now, I'm still proud.

Besides, he may be decorated, but I'm still The General in our house . . .

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

I May Not Be Astin . . .

But I know how to make some stuff.

I can cook a decent meal. More creative and talented than the average wife, if I may be so bold. But I work full time - don't do it that often.

There are certain things I make that people have fallen in love with. That I get asked to bring to parties. That if I host a party and don't make, people are disappointed.

My pancakes. Particularly when I drop chocolate chips in them. Homemade batter (none of the mix stuff).

Deviled eggs. I have the Kosher kind, and the not-so-Kosher kind (with bacon).

And my guacamole.

My husband called it out in his recap of the evening. Daddy asked him to share. So I'll post it here for all of bloggerdom to use.

It's not so much secret ingredients, as it is how you put it together. So here it is, party size.

• 5 large avocados, ripe (should be firm with just a little bit of give when you squeeze it - not too squishy, not too hard)
• 1 large roma tomato, diced into small bits
• 1 or two slices of sweet onion (Vidalia, Mayan Sweet, etc.), diced into small bits
• 1 medium sized jalapeno, seeded and chopped small (seeds may make it too spicy)
• 1 clove of garlic, crushed
• A small handful of cilantro, chopped fine
• One lemon, or 1/2 lemon and 1/2 lime
• Salt and pepper, to taste

Key is to get the avocados out of the skin, take out the pits, and chop (NOT MASH) the avocado into small bits. Squeeze on the lemon and/or lime juice (citrus keeps it from turning brown). Add tomato, onion, jalapeno, garlic, cilantro, and salt and pepper. Mix gently to keep from turning everything to mush (some of the avocados will form a bit of a paste). Taste; add salt, pepper, or another squeeze of lemon/lime juice, as desired. Refrigerate for 20-30 minutes and serve with your favorite chips. Or large spoons to just eat it straight.

Or come on over to the Casa de Chako and I'll whip some up for you.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Post-Birthday Drip

Well, its probably post-nasal drip. Or a full blow sinus infection. Whatever I got, I feel like doggie-doo.

We held a gathering at our house last night - sort of a "Welcome Home/Happy Birthday" party for the husband. We got a manageable mix of doctors he works with, accountants I work with, and poker bloggers, and a variety of spouses and kids here and there.

The food layout, if I do say so, was good, and I hardly had to throw anything away. Except the vegetables. Apparently, big kids don't eat their vegetables.

The poker was fun, collegial, and quick. It was myself, Dr. David, Joshua, Dr. Andrew, Cayne, Dr. Chako, and Zeem. I played my normal poker. Pretty tight and conservative, one or two pushes when I figured I could get away with it. We had other guests, so I had to do double duty of playing and hostessing. I think I covered pretty well.

No money at the Chako house though. It got down to the final four - we were going to pay two. Dr. Andrew had recently acquired a stack. I had been the chip leader to that point, but his acquisition gave him a slight advantage. He was in the small blind, Cayne was the big blind, Dr. Chako was UTG (with not even a blind in his rack) and I was the button. Small blind was $400, big blind $800.

Dr Chako puts his last $700 in. I look down at AK. I'm not a fan of AK. But Dr. Andrew only has half a blind in. And just acquired a stack. He doesn't need to play. Cayne is short-stacked. And Dr. Chako has nothing. I raise to $4,000. Total blind steal and figure I can go up against whatever the hubby has. Dr. Andrew looks at his hand, pauses, and says "All in". Cayne looks at everyone, and graciously backs out of the pot. Without any foreshadowing, this was the best tournament decision he made all night.

Now here is where you have to do one of those "what now?" If I'm playing just me, you call it. My bet was over half my stack, the blinds are going up in less than two minutes, and that leaves me with an M near the 3 range, if I did the math right (my head is stuffed up - don't do math well when I'm congested). AK is a good starting hand against the blinds. I could have thought about our buy ins as family money - let the Dr. go down in flames, but leave one of us in short-stacked to try to do battle against Cayne' shorter stack and hope to get our buy-ins back. But we play our own cards - not as a family.

I call. Dr. Andrew flips over pocket 7s (not pocket 8s, honey). A made hand, but a bit of a race. Flop comes out . . . A . . . x . . . 7. GRRRRRR! A set for Dr. Andrew. As if to add insult to injury, the turn gave me a King, for two pair. But he had me covered. And Dr. Chako's lame nothing hand went down in the muck with mine. Ah, such is the game.

A stunned Cayne blurted out "Did I just make $40?" Yes, Mr. Mackey, you did. So now, you and Joshua can add that to your little nest egg so that when you finally have the courage to come out to the world . . . you can have the finances to do it in style. Besides, I need more gay friends. You can stop hiding behind that "he's my roommate" thing any time you're ready.

But it was good company, and good fun. We even got a call from my favorite Canadian Packer-lover and general lover overall (did I mention I hugged him AND kissed him in Vegas?). And I got my baby love. I still love their fat little bodies, even though I have no desire to have another one of my own. I even got a baby hickey on my hand from where a little over-exuberant James tried to gum through the side of my hand.

When the poker game was done, we retired to the kitchen drank a little, talked with the remaining group, listened to Dr. Chako play a few songs on the guitar, and called it a night.

Well, that was after I took some Nyquil.

Winna #1 (Dr. Andrew) and Winna #2 (Cayne)

Cayne smiling (always) while Dr. Chako contemplates (always)

No this is not a Coca-Cola products ad . . . Dr. Chako and Zeem both contemplate . . .

Dr. David and Joshua consider . . .

Mrs. Chako kisses fat babies . . .

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

The Lovers . . .

I have little artwork in my house. The prints in my house are generally ones that match the decor. Colors I like. Or that match the pillows. Or that match the theme of the room.

I have one canvas that I absolutely love. My reaction to it was visceral the first time I saw it. Some things affect me like that. A movie scene. A song. Certain people's eyes. Their voices.

I didn't buy it the first time I saw it. Thought it was too expensive. But when I saw it again, I had the same reaction. Knew it had to be mine.

I don't know what it's called. I call it "The Lovers".

In dreams, I am that girl.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

How Did You Get Here?

I know how most of my readers get here. Our loosely woven blogger community with its interlocking threads of poker and Las Vegas and life is still the biggest part of my readership. Those of you who read me more regularly have me linked up, too.

But every so often I go to sitemeter to find out how the rest of you got here. Sometimes it reminds me to go read some of you who link me that I haven't read in a while.

Then some of them just tickle me. The Google searches. Here are a few of the ones that have led to my blog recently:

• "wife with no panty" (the panty posts have always been about WEARING panties)
• "wearing panties" (See?)
• "Benicio Murillo" (Yeah, he's hot)
• "show me your wife"
• "under the dress"
• "wife car nipples" (I don't think I have any nipple posts - but now I'm sure I'll get some nipple traffic)
• "panties showing crack" (must have been looking for plumbers)
  
  and my personal favorite . . .
  
• "wife takes it up the a-- story" (did I miss this one? was someone guest posting?)

With searches like that, I wonder if they are disappointed when they get here?

I think I'm going to start putting labels on my posts that have nothing to do with the post, but might increase the number of weirdos who traffic my blog. Hey, traffic is traffic, right?

Now I gotta go finish getting ready for a party. Stop by and wish DrChako happy birthday today!

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Date Night . . . Late Night . . .

It was date night. Which meant work simply HAD to turn into another late night.

But after chastising my team members, guilting them into staying later to help me clean up their messes, and warning my boss about the upcoming badness, I finally got out of there.

Made it home just in time to do a quick change of clothes, let the hubby behind the wheel (yes, he ALWAYS wants to drive my car) and head down to our favorite artsy-fartsy theater. Not one of those 28-plex deals. 3 screens. 60 person capacity in each one. Foreign films. Don't expect to catch "Die Hard - Just Die Already" here. With real butter on the popcorn. And the almost Edward Norton look alike guy taking tickets. Meow. The one with the skinny jeans and Converse All-Stars that he got from a vintage clothing shop. Must have been off tonight.

Mrs. Pettigrew Lives For A Day. Cute, quick, funny movie. Lee Pace is hot. Good date movie that even the guys can enjoy.

Indigo Girls in the CD changer in the car. Lesbian guitarists - Great music for a night at the artsy-fartsy theater.

I am intense
I am in need
I am in pain
I am in love

For the three minutes of that song, I feel their angst in my core. Sing it at the top of my lungs. I can make myself cry, if I concentrate hard enough.

My husband tickled my knee while we watched the movie. I missed that. Now he's snoring beside me in bed. I didn't miss that.

I need to go join him. Work has drained me this week.

But boy, did my feet look great . . .

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

The Free Market at Work

Warning: Blog is purely for entertainment and informational value. No comments made should be construed as investment advice or anything resembling investment advice. You should always read every bit of financial information publicly available about companies before making investment decisions. Including the small print. Consult your tax advisors. Or don't, if they aren't that smart. Do not drive or operate heavy machinery while reading this. Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

News Alert: (5:00 p.m. ET) Industry-flavor-of-the-day Company sells shares to Big Institutional Investor. Stock price rises.

55 hours earlier . . . 7:00 a.m. PT . . . We join Mrs. Chako and an unnamed, completely uninteresting, and likely unemployed, reporter . . .

Reporter (R): Mrs. Chako, you're leaving the house early. And your wearing you're Anne Kleins. Nice.

Mrs. Chako (MC): Thanks. Yeah, client is doing a stock offering. I've got a comfort letter to do.

R: Those shoes look sharp. Which client?

MC: Thanks. Can't say. That's confidential. If I told you, I'd have to kill you.

R: What's a comfort letter?

MC: Well, its a letter that we give to an investment banking firm who's helping an institutional investor buy our client's stock.

R: What's an institutional investor? Is that like an investor locked in an insane asylum?

MC: Not always. Sometimes, they roam around freely. And have lots of other people's money to invest.

R: I see. I use E*Trade when I buy stock. Like that baby on T.V. Why don't institutional investors use E*Trade?

MC: Because E*Trade doesn't cost enough. Ask Dr. Chako about that. If something is more expensive, it must be better. All the other institutional investors will laugh at them if they use E*Trade.

R: Gotcha. So what's in this letter you give to the investment banker? Top secret company information? Profitability projections? Tax-saving strategies?

MC: Oh, we never give comfort on forward-looking information. We only report on historical information.

R: Oh, like audits. So you do an audit for these guys.

MC: No. We already audited them.

R: So what are you reporting on?

MC: Well, we're reporting on the numbers we already audited.

R: You're auditing them again?

MC: No, we're just confirming those numbers are the numbers we audited.

R: But isn't your audit report with those numbers publicly available?

MC: Yes.

R: So why don't the institutional investors just read the audit report themselves and use E*Trade?

MC: Because then they wouldn't have other people to sue.

R: So they will sue you if something goes wrong?

MC: No, they will sue the investment banker.

R: And the investment banker will sue you?

MC: No. The investment banker's attorneys will sue us.

R: This is getting complicated.

MC: Tell me about it.

15 hours later . . . 10 p.m. PT

R: I'm tired. And hungry. And bored.

MC: Tell me about it.

R: You've been editing that letter forever. What are your writing now?

MC: I'm changing all the dates by one day. The expected closing date just moved.

R: E*Trade is only $6.99 a trade.

MC: Tell me about it.

R: So you're almost done, right?

MC: Not even close. Tonight all of our talking heads need to review this letter. Quality control.

R: But it looks just like that other letter you issued to the same investment banker six months ago that you've been using as an example.

MC: Lot can happen in six months. God created the world in seven days; it's possible our general counsel's office has started using extra commas in the last six months.

R: But I thought they were worried about the numbers.

MC: They are. And the commas. I think damages are based on character count in your comfort letters.

R: This is getting complicated.

MC: Tell me about it.

10 hours later . . . 8 a.m. PT

R: I'm sorry, I must have dozed off. Did you even have time to sleep?

MC: I think so.

R: You've switched to the red Guess by Marciano. Looks like you mean business. Hot.

MC: Thanks. It's a west coast power play. Betty's got hers on too. Smaller feet, though. Bitch.

R: Betty's doing a comfort letter? Wish I was a comfort letter . . .

MC: She's not doing a comfort letter. Or you, for that matter, moron. She's probably out taking pictures of pretty things and buying shoes and counting all the money from her high-paying, international-traveling job while she figures out how she can get even skinnier and hotter. While I'm slaving away . . . bitch.

R: I thought you two were friends.

MC: We are, moron. I use the term "bitch" affectionately. Can't you tell the difference?

R: Clearly not. So you have all the commas in order?

MC: Commas are SOOOOO 10 hours ago. Now we're on to bigger and better things. Now we're onto representation letters.

R: I thought you were doing comfort letters.

MC: But now we're getting representation letters.

R: From who?

MC: Management, the investment banker, . . .

R: Why do you need those?

MC: So we have someone to sue.

R: Gotcha. What are these reams of paper around you?

MC: The last 20 versions of the comfort letter and representations letter.

R: I thought you were an accountant? Where are all the numbers?

MC: Hidden behind a few commas.

R: So when can I read this letter?

MC: You can't. It's distribution is restricted to the underwriters. If I let you read it, I'll have to kill you.

R: Could you do that?

MC: Don't test me. Now shut up. I've got to justify the text . . .

12 hours later . . . 8 p.m.

R: Are you going to introduce me to your friend?

MC: She's not my friend. She's my boss. And she doesn't talk to morons. That is my job.

R: So the beer looks good . . . you two must be celebrating. Get that letter done?

MC: We're not celebrating. We're waiting.

R: What are you waiting for?

MC: The underwriters' attorneys to review the draft letter.

R: But it looks the same as the last letter you gave them. And it's 11 p.m. in New York.

MC: That was then, this is now.

R: S.E. Hinton?

MC: Yeah. Like I have time to read. Could you move away from our table? You're blocking my cell phone reception - they could call at any moment.

R: Sorry . . . can I have some calamari?

MC: Don't count on it.

3 hours later . . . 11 p.m.

R: So they are good with the last changes?

MC: Finally. I gotta go change one more "this" to "the" and then we're final.

R: Whew! I'm exhausted. Ready to go home.

MC: Oh, we're not going home.

R: But I thought you said you're almost final.

MC: Yeah, but we can't deliver it.

R: Why not?

MC: Because it's still today. The letter is dated tomorrow.

R: But it's tomorrow in New York.

MC: But it's still "today" on the west coast.

R: This is complicated.

MC: Tell me about it.

1 hour later . . . 12:00 a.m.

R: So . . . you can deliver it?

MC: Let's wait until 12:01 - just to be safe.

R: But it's 3 a.m. in New York . . . is anyone still awake?

MC: They are getting paid by the hour to stay awake.

R: Gotcha.

MC: There. Done. Let's roll.

R: Hang on, let me finish this trade. Just like the baby says . . . "click" . . .

MC: That's insider trading. You'll be forced to return all your ill-gotten gains. Talk to Martha Stewart about that one.

R: Hmmm.

MC: Besides, just because they are doing a deal doesn't mean you're going to make money. . . what if the stock price goes down?

R: Oh, don't worry. I also sold short.

MC: I'm out of here.

R: Can I touch your feet?

MC: Hmmm . . . I've slept 5 hours in the last 42 hours . . . what the hell? Knock yourself out.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife

Fool, Me

April Fool's Day.

I'm not much of a prankster, and haven't been pranked much, either.

Yesterday my client told me we were going to do this rush project. Had to be done ASAP - almost yesterday, in fact.

I kept hoping when I showed up today they would say "April Fools!" No such luck.

So I steel myself to prepare for the frantic rushing and unnecessarily tight deadlines and decline in people's social skills that accompany this type of madness. Coincidentally, we are temporarily housed in an office that has a white board with the saying "Your lack of planning does not constitute my emergency." Oh, the irony.

And to start the day, I actually caught my heel in a piece of decaying sidewalk and fell. Literally crumpled in a well-dress pile of suit and computer and papers. I don't think anyone saw. But my pride and my ankle are still feeling it.

Hope the rest of you get a good laugh out of the day.

Respectfully submitted,

The Wife