. . . and no place to go.
I need a new wingperson . . . one that doesn't get all headachey and tired at 11 p.m. Now I'm home with too much lip gloss on (for home anyway) and nothing to do. Would just go to the Front by myself, but I think that is asking for trouble, in more ways than one. It has been promised that we will go "out" tomorrow . . . but I hate that bookclub, all older men and weird oldest profession types.
And now that I'm hyper-aware of being noticed, I did have a boy say good-bye to me at the restaurant. I could go back, but it is my former employer (Princess' choice) and I was tiring of talking to former cronies. Hate doing the smiley nicey-nice, "Oh, how are the kids?" routine with the people who were fired . . . who are now working there again. Worse yet, time has stopped there, no one has done anything . . . and the place has gotten lame. So the "I haven't seen you in a year" (when Princess drags me) conversation is not very stimulating. It's the same conversation from last year.
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1 comment:
I was ready for Saturday! Tell your dad to stay off motorcycles. I hope all is well.
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