Willie's 9-5

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, chief, no problem."

A normal enough start to a conversation. I was expected a question about weekend, maybe a rant about the weather, or at worst, a lend a money. So what I got instead was, well, unexpected.

He said,

"I Think my Willie is receding."

I paused. Blinked. Processed.

"What?"

"It's starting to look like a baby button mushroom! But only when I'm at work, mind you."

At this point, there were two ways to respond. One: genuine concern, question about stress, maybe a Google search that would put us both down a rabbit hole of regrettable images. Or two: lean into the absurdity of what had just been said.

"That's hilarious—it’s got a 9-5."

"It's gone on strike!"

"Or," I was barely able to keep a straight face, "a wee holiday to Los Vaginas!"

And just like that productivity for the day had officially ended.