Gemma, sick and tired of her job
I’m not going to work today. I just can’t do it. I’d rather get hit by a Mack truck or contaminated with some strange ebola than go in. I can’t call in sick, either, because I’ve done that too much these last few weeks. They think I’ve gotten pink eye, walking pneumonia, cancer and three kinds of AIDS. I’ve also told them that seven of my grandmothers have died and ten of my aunts.
I’ve got none of either!
One of these days I’m just going to walk right in there, quit and then walk out. Then I’ll get a bagel and maybe sit and read the paper.
But, enough dreaming. I’m late for work.
Rantasaurus Rex: More power to you, Gemma. I’ve got a work-sized rash on my balls that I need to get rid of, too.
