Break out the champagne. Or the aspirin.
I went out with girlfriends last night. Several bottles of red wine and a generous helping of angst later, I weaved my way home. To find that the husband had locked the front door on his way to bed, despite me not having taken my keys.
(The key thing happens all the time. Three days into my Christmas break I discovered that I had no idea where my keys were, and on reflection realised that I hadn't had occasion to use them for the past ten days, and thus they could have been anywhere. I turned the house upside down, even cleaning out rooms that hadn't been cleaned in months, to no avail. I didn't find them again until I got back to work on 2 January. I'd left my keys in a suit jacket, which I'd then packed in a box to be moved over to the new office buildings. I'm a genius.)
So it took me ten minutes of alternately ringing the doorbell, the home phone and the mobile phone before I managed to wake the poor man, who ambled downstairs, let me in, yawned 'oops' and wandered back up to bed. And today - singing along with me if you know the words - I'm tired and hung-over.
Hey, anyone remember that New Year's resolution I made? Nope, me neither.
So for a start, there went any chance of getting to the gym. Basically, if I can't get thin and fit on one visit a week, I don't think it's going to happen. I don't even want to think about the money.
Secondly, I had an appointment with my HR manager, subject line We Have Two Days Left To Decide To Fire You. To which I turned up with hair scraped into a messy ponytail and in dire need of cutting, a shirt of dubious age chosen because it doesn't require ironing, and definitely not enough make-up to hide the bags under my eyes. Add to that my inability to make eye contact (her office was very bright) and my over-reliance on the word 'um' to fill pauses, and I'm sure I came across like the brightest young lawyer on the block. After all, nothing says success like Hi, I'm Hungover On A Wednesday.
Despite which, apparently they're not going to fire me. Probation is over as of Friday.
(The key thing happens all the time. Three days into my Christmas break I discovered that I had no idea where my keys were, and on reflection realised that I hadn't had occasion to use them for the past ten days, and thus they could have been anywhere. I turned the house upside down, even cleaning out rooms that hadn't been cleaned in months, to no avail. I didn't find them again until I got back to work on 2 January. I'd left my keys in a suit jacket, which I'd then packed in a box to be moved over to the new office buildings. I'm a genius.)
So it took me ten minutes of alternately ringing the doorbell, the home phone and the mobile phone before I managed to wake the poor man, who ambled downstairs, let me in, yawned 'oops' and wandered back up to bed. And today - singing along with me if you know the words - I'm tired and hung-over.
Hey, anyone remember that New Year's resolution I made? Nope, me neither.
So for a start, there went any chance of getting to the gym. Basically, if I can't get thin and fit on one visit a week, I don't think it's going to happen. I don't even want to think about the money.
Secondly, I had an appointment with my HR manager, subject line We Have Two Days Left To Decide To Fire You. To which I turned up with hair scraped into a messy ponytail and in dire need of cutting, a shirt of dubious age chosen because it doesn't require ironing, and definitely not enough make-up to hide the bags under my eyes. Add to that my inability to make eye contact (her office was very bright) and my over-reliance on the word 'um' to fill pauses, and I'm sure I came across like the brightest young lawyer on the block. After all, nothing says success like Hi, I'm Hungover On A Wednesday.
Despite which, apparently they're not going to fire me. Probation is over as of Friday.
posted by tanya at 4:45 pm
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