Albert H., MSc, PhD, is a man of order and dignity. Every morning he wakes up at 5:15, perfectly pressed and with immaculate hair. He ruthlessly crushes his career competition, and the socks in his wardrobe are organized alphabetically by color. His two children are fluent in five languages, including Ancient Greek. In Albert’s world, everything has its fixed, logical place. He is a commendable beacon of discipline and meticulousness for his entire, lamentably imperfect, surroundings.
However, on that infamous Wednesday, April 13th, Albert’s alarm clock failed him. He woke up as late as 6:58, meaning he not only skipped his morning workout and his three daily affirmations, but he also missed breakfast and forgot to tuck his shirt into his trousers. On his way out, his pinky toe hit the corner of a massive mahagony chest of drawers with surgical precision. Screaming like a wounded lynx, he hopped his way to the car on one foot. For a while, he fished for his keys in his briefcase, only to find they had slipped all the way to the bottom, buried under old receipts and melted chocolate. During his frantic drive through the morning rush hour, Albert didn’t even bother trying to calm down, arriving at a crucial investor meeting with a blood pressure of 160 over 110. With a dramatic, well-practiced gesture, he flipped open his laptop, only to find it completely dead. He somehow survived the awkward meeting and limped through the rest of the workday in relative peace—if you don’t count the espresso spilled all over his shirt and the missing toilet paper in the office restroom.
After work, he stopped by the grocery store. His wife’s instruction: “Buy a block of butter, and if they have bread rolls, take ten,” was followed to the letter. They had bread rolls, so naturally, he bought ten sticks of butter. On his way home, he accidentally dropped his wife’s silk suits off at the laundromat instead of the dry cleaner’s. We shall discreetly remain silent about what transpired between Mr. and Mrs. H. after he got home.
Around nine in the evening, Albert is sitting on the living room floor. The coffee stain on his shirt has been joined by ketchup from dinner (“Hand it over, I’ll open it”). Albert stares blankly into space and suddenly bursts into uncontrollable laughter. Relieved, he wipes away his tears and slips into a pair of baggy sweatpants. Thank God, he can finally be normal.
And when does he intend to become the epitome of perfection again? Well… when it rains, it dries.
