A couple of years ago, we were shocked that B, a friend of ours, in his mid-40s then, was hospitalised for a heart attack and had to have a quadruple bypass. He worked in public relations.
Last year, E, another friend, never regained consciousness after a massive heart attack. He was barely 40. He worked in public relations.
Last night, we met up with M, who said that he'd quit his job and was taking a break. He then told us that he had a minor stroke last year, and he's only in his mid-30s. He realised that there was more to life than work. His job? Public relations.
Not that hard to see the thread running through these three individuals. And that's why L isn't going back into PR. Not that he hasn't tried. I just won't let him. He used to clock in 14, 15-hour days and his blood pressure would soar like a kite.
L mildly tried to remonstrate with me for putting my foot down. "Who are you to tell me what to do?"
"Your wife. The one who has to bury your corpse."
End of argument. Wife wins. As always.
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