“May I have a manila folder please, light of my life?”
“Over there. In the box.”
“That’s a whole packet sealed in plastic which I lack the ability to open because I don’t have a knife or scissors on me right at this second. You need to open it.”
I hand her the folder because she is sitting at a table with immediate access to scissors and knives.
“The fuck is wrong with you?”
“Nothing. Just open the packet so I can have a manilla folder.”
“You need to stop fucken kinging.”
“Kinging?”
“Yes, kinging. There’s no crown on your head, you don’t rule by divine right, and I am not a subject.”
“You’re the Chief Operations Officer.”
“That’s right.”
“I’m the Chief Executive Officer.”
“Also correct.”
“That’s like a king.”
“Oh my fucking God! Does the word ‘King’ appear in that title you’ve given yourself?”
“It’s implied…”
“Really?”
“The traditional understanding is that a CEO is a king, and…”
“Can your son inherit the CEO title?”
“No…shit…”
“And stop getting into fucking bed like you’re about to hibernate in a cave.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The way you get into bed every night. Get into the fucking thing like a human being. Sit on the edge, swing your legs in, cover yourself with the doona, don’t speak, and go to sleep. Simple.”
“Doesn’t make it much of an occasion if I do that, does it?”
“It’s not an occasion! It’s getting into fucking bed. Who the fuck sweeps the doona to one side like you’re unveiling a magic trick, then climbs onto the mattress on all fours, flips onto his back, and starts talking loudly about politics or the latest weird-arse Korean slasher film you’ve just seen?”
“It’s not like you’re asleep.”
“No, I’m reading a book. And stop asking me to read out loud to you. Just get in like a human being, and go to sleep. It’s a bed, not a gorilla trampoline.”
“I just asked for a manila folder and it’s turned into this crime-sheet you’ve created to hurt my feelings.”
“That’s what happens when you start kinging.”
