"I'm only three years older than you!"
"Yeah, but I'm cute."
I know she's being funny, but I also know her well enough to know when she truly believes what she's saying.
"Zip that cute face before I leave it on the side of the road."
She laughs and makes the motion of a zipper across her lips.
I love my job. I do. Even when they tease me. Even when a police officer ruins my favorite shoes trying to get me out of harms way. Although, I actually would have traded my ruined shoes for getting ran into (her hands were cuffed behind her back, there's not a lot she could have done!) that day. Even when they embarrass me in front of the cute nurse, on purpose, and laugh about it as soon as we leave. They're the reason I get up in the morning.
"Oh I really like that house!" I pointed to one with a wrap around, enclosed, porch. "But maybe I should just stop looking since I'm never going to need any more space than a studio apartment because I'm going to be alone and childless my whole life."
"Yep."
An exaggerated frown crossed my face and she immediately took to groveling.
"Okay, no, being serious now. You will be a great mom. You'll be old, but you'll be great. You have to bring them to our house so I can play with them. They'll call me 'Auntie.' They'll all have beautiful hair, like you, too."
"I feel better now. Thanks, girl." I wasn't really feeling bad in the first place. You can't do this job if you take everything they say to heart. If I got upset every time I get called a 'fucking bitch,' I'd go crazy, myself. Not to mention, 9 times out of 10, half an hour after 'fucking bitch,' comes 'I love you, honey.' 1 out of 10 times it's still 'fucking bitch.'
"You're welcome. Now, just because you're going to have all these beautiful babies and live in a big house, that does not mean you can leave us. I'll let you have the babies, but you have to stay our supervisor."
"I can't make any promises...what if the man I marry has to move for his job? What if he makes sooo much money that I don't need a job?"
"Leave him. We'll need you more."
I love my job.
"Yep."
An exaggerated frown crossed my face and she immediately took to groveling.
"Okay, no, being serious now. You will be a great mom. You'll be old, but you'll be great. You have to bring them to our house so I can play with them. They'll call me 'Auntie.' They'll all have beautiful hair, like you, too."
"I feel better now. Thanks, girl." I wasn't really feeling bad in the first place. You can't do this job if you take everything they say to heart. If I got upset every time I get called a 'fucking bitch,' I'd go crazy, myself. Not to mention, 9 times out of 10, half an hour after 'fucking bitch,' comes 'I love you, honey.' 1 out of 10 times it's still 'fucking bitch.'
"You're welcome. Now, just because you're going to have all these beautiful babies and live in a big house, that does not mean you can leave us. I'll let you have the babies, but you have to stay our supervisor."
"I can't make any promises...what if the man I marry has to move for his job? What if he makes sooo much money that I don't need a job?"
"Leave him. We'll need you more."
I love my job.
No comments:
Post a Comment