I wouldn’t consider last week a personal best. The two stressful meetings, the notice of a lawsuit, the getting fired…
Oh wait, I didn’t mention that? Ooops. Silly me. I must have forgotten.
I guess when you yell at your boss and tell him where to shove it, he fires you.
OK, so that’s not what happened.
But telling the truth – everyone in the company was laid-off when the powers that be suddenly decided to cease operations on Saturday – is just so… so… so…
You say poTAto, I say… oh I don’t know, something I made up.
On top of all this, I have yet to be served the lawsuit papers which is slightly depressing. How awesome would it have been to be served and laid off on the same day?!? Can you imagine the sympathy I could get? I could probably have opened up a ‘Feel bad for Bekah Fund, Donate Now’ at Bank of America. What a terrific bummer!
I have had some close calls. I dove into the rose bushes at the sight of our new mail woman who decidedly looks like a process server. I am also suffering from a severe case of rug burn thanks to my gold metal swan dive under the bed at the terror caused by a passing ice cream truck. Every time someone knocks on our door, I yelp and scream ‘REBEKAH DOESN’T LIVE HERE! SHE DIED FROM A FREAK ACCIDENT INVOLVING FALLING OUT OF A BED!!’
So seriously, now that we’re past the silliness of ‘I lost my job and got sued in the same week’, I have some REALLY terrible, awful, very bad news...
I dressed in my ‘professional’ slacks (since the job hunt starts today) – surprisingly I haven’t shrunk these yet – and couldn’t find my black belt. Late, and in desperate need for something to hold up my pants other than carefully woven Chihuahua hair, I scrambled to Chris’ side of the closet and grabbed his black dress belt. I figured that, even though it’s huge, I could make it work. I slid it on and…
…DEAR HOLY FATHER NO…
… it fit.
That’s when I looked heavenward and shouted, ‘Really God? This is SOOOOOO not funny.’
What’s next? Am I going to fit in his pants? His T-shirts? His OVERSIZED FOOTBALL JERSEYS?!?!?
Sure it’s not God’s fault that my butt is inflating faster than a safety vest in an ocean bound plane but geez, couldn’t I have a break?!?!
I was about to suffer from an emotional breakdown but then I called Chris who clarified, ‘That belt? I haven’t worn that since.. I don’t know… forever ago. It’s a 29 or something.’
I looked down at the belt which was perched across my hip bones (that’s how I roll, lowrider) and exhaled.
I grabbed a post it note and scrawled ‘I’m going to kill you for freaking me out’ and slapped it on the mirror for him to find when he got home.
He thinks it’s funny…
But I’m not joking.