Quite by mistake, I got a job. I have now gone full circle from college to entry-level to manager back to graduate school to mother and volunteer and now, entry (obsolete) level. Lesson learned, just when you think 50 can't get any worse, a 22- year-old has to teach you how to answer a phone and you have to wear big-girl (in my case very big girl) clothes instead of overalls.
Now my garden is going to die, my kids are going to start doing drugs and watching porn on the Internet. No one is going to feed the cats, clean up their vomit or flush the toilets. Michelle will find someone else to have lunch with and what little I earn will be taxed at 28%. But at least my husband will be happy to know that I am actually doing something. Normally, I just sit around all day getting fatter and thinking of ways to spend his money.
Oh well, life is like a box of chocolates, you never know when your'e going to break a tooth on a nut.
