I dropped my bag as I walked into work this morning heard something shatter. When I got to my desk I discovered my sad, broken Thermos draining its contents into my new leather bag, which most likely will not pull through. Now I'm the guy with a lake of coffee in his cubicle and probably this week's ridicule among the cleaning crew.
Just because I tuck my shirt in doesn't mean I don't deal in shit (literally) at home. I may have the luxury of sitting in a chair will I work, but I've also had the runny contents of a diaper squirt out all over my hand as I attempted to squeeze it into a too-full diaper Genie.