Work beats Dorothy the Dinosaur any day

THERE it was on my screen - an email to "All Staff" that smacked of anger and frustration, from Charlene in the accounts department.

The frantic email read, "Hi all! There are no teaspoons in the kitchen again! I cannot keep coming to work to face this situation. Please go through your drawers, at work and home, and return all the cutlery to the kitchen for all to enjoy. Thanks for your co-operation. Please do not be selfish about this shortage. Charlene."

Um, Charlene. You are hanging on too tight, my love. I agree it is annoying when you go to make your cuppa soup and there are no spoons or forks, so instead you have to use the dodgy butter knife that is lying dirty in the sink, covered in some

one's Vegemite.

And I often wonder where these missing spoons end up. Are they in some secret universe with the one sock that is always missing and a field of lost umbrellas? I do not know.

But to be brutally honest, I probably have a few of these stolen spoons lying stealth-like in my possession. I say probably because swiping a spoon or two sounds like something I would do in my chaotic whirl of a life as I whiz about the place like a spinning top with no end in sight. I probably have 10 damn spoons at the bottom of my feral handbag. They are probably lying under an apple, two baby bibs, six half-melted lipsticks and eight sets of keys. Who would know? I try not to venture into my handbag unless it is an SOS, such as tissues for one of my kid's runny noses.

But the thing I found interesting about the email was the line "I cannot keep coming to work to face this situation".

Honey, let me tell you, I come to work to escape much worse situations back at home. I have a toddler and a three-year-old. Meal times are warfare. Trying to get them to share their toys usually ends in tears. My tears. And the witching hour actually goes about three hours in duration.

I love my children to death but it is non-stop work wrangling them all the time.

Work on the other hand is calm and civilised. There is no chance I will have to watch Dorothy the stupid dinosaur for the 147th time, and I can go to the toilet without having gorgeous but grubby little hands pulling up on my jeans.

Perhaps I will go buy some teaspoons to keep the peace at work. Or I could invest in some plastic gloves and dive deep into my handbag.

After all, I need to keep the peace in my place of peace that is work.

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