I’m not mother material

Well I made it through the bubonic plague without murdering my loved ones and co-workers.  I really appreciate everyone’s concern last week.
Aside from leaving a snot trail everywhere I went, the weekend was still a big piece of dog shit – starting with Friday at work.
There are about 12 people that work in my “sub-department”, we’re all in a 500 square foot suite so whenever my boss has something important to tell us all, she yells “SHOUT OUT!” and we all come-a-runnin’. We had a shout out on Friday morning where my boss informs us all that this girl in our sub-department has put in her 2 weeks because she has taken a better job.  She has her masters in some kind of European studies thing and was able to snag a higher ranked job in that field, good for her, I’m all about not being underemployed. The thing of it is, when I was scouted out to come work for the branch of the company that I’m now in, they had originally wanted me for her position (which is a level up from my current position). At the last minute this girl showed an interest in it and they gave it to her, because although the higher ups admitted I was more qualified, she had been with the company longer, and that was more important to them than actually being able to do the job.  So for the past 3 months while they trained this chick on how to do the things that I learned in the big city, I did her work.  And now she quit.  So, you would think that I would get bumped up into this position because A. It was supposed to be mine in the first place and B. I’m already doing the work, right? Wrong. No one has said a damn word about it to me. Needless to say I’ve been fucking pissed about it all weekend. Like so pissed that I’ve been making empty threats to everyone I talked to over weekend that if they don’t give it to me I’m going to quit, I’m going to fucking quit goddamnit – Obama will take care of me, right? Tehehe.
Literally as I was finishing that last paragraph my boss came in my office and offered me the position. I’m keeping that last paragraph though, just so I can stick my big dumb foot in my mouth.
So anyway, I came home and rolled around in my bed coughing and sneezing all night Friday, and Saturday was the slumber partay. Betty, her daughter, my sister, and one of our other friends all came over for some good old fashioned girl time.  We made pizzas, prank called people, played board games, I got drunk on a giant bottle of wine, ate popcorn, and watched movies. It was a good time, until the next morning.  Betty decided to take a shower, so while she did that, I made everyone pancakes which is also known as the moment I realized I never want kids.
So I’m mixing and flipping and flopping the cakes all around being really proud of myself that not only could I keep myself alive it appeared as though I could keep other people alive too. Then the little trolls come up and started being massive brats. They’re telling on each other for the stupidest shit, and asking me to get them stuff literally every 20 seconds.  And by stuff, I mean they were asking me to get them wet wipes for the swiffer.  I know I shouldn’t be complaining because they were ultimately cleaning my floors, but it was too much. Like why are kids blind/retarded and can’t see that you’re obviously doing something else at the moment and CANNOT get them swiffer pads so they can play. Lets be logical, do you want to swiffer the damn floor or do you want chocolate chip pancakes? To me, the choice is clear. It was so bad that I almost started crying. Instead of crying, I talked to myself. I was telling whoever was listening that I get it, I get why being a parent sucks and is a full time job.  Because kids literally suck the life out of you. It was 10am and I was exhausted.  Later that day while I took a moment for myself, TO PEE, they were banging on the door saying they needed more to drink.  Um okay you little heathens, bring me your cup and I’ll get you a piping hot glass of piss.  Christ. Like really?!
So after everyone went home I cracked open a beer and hungout without pants for the rest of the night.  A small reward for making it through hell for a day.
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One thought on “I’m not mother material

  1. Matthew says:

    If someone were to ask me, “what’s the best closing paragraph you’ve ever read?” this one would immediate come to mind.

    And congrats on the new position (promotion). Up until reading the part when your boss offered you the gig I was already drafting a comment in my mind to tell you to march in and demand the damn job…and perhaps sneeze a couple of time to germ up the air.

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