I’m getting a tattoo. Right across my forehead, that says “Sucker.” Or maybe not. Seems like it must already be there, it just doesn’t show up in the mirror.
You guessed it. Seven o’clock rolled around, and the only way I got out of there was my hubby nagging every five minutes, and finally calling my office manager and having Hope ask for her mommy to come home. That’s after showing up at a quarter to seven in the morning, and eating sandwiches while typing one-handed instead of leaving for the lunch break I also don’t get paid for. I think I made it to the bathroom twice. I got paid for those breaks, by God.
I told my office manager to please remember those four extra hours when I wander in twenty minutes late because I was plotting a scene on the way to work and got lost. It will happen. It always does.