Last night, as he often does, my boss handed me a 20 dollar bill and said, "thank you for staying late." I've never worked for anyone who just randomly hands out cash for doing what I'm already being paid to do. I'm not gonna lie to you, sometimes when he hands me a wad of bills, I kind of feel like a whore. OR I feel like what a whore must feel like, since I don't REALLY know what it feels like to be a whore, never having accepted money for sexual favors. Mom and Dad, aren't you proud?
As he handed me the money, he said, "Jennie. Don't. Drink." Either I have been running my mouth at work too much or he has found this blog. I'm hoping it's the former, because if it's the latter I'm going to have to shut this blog down and start a new, secret one and really that just sounds like an awful lot of work and we all know how I feel about that.
Anyway, after work, I called my roommate to see when she'd be home.
Me: Hey, are you home?
Heidi: No, but I'm on my way.
Me: OK, Boss's Name gave me $20 as I was leaving tonight.
Heidi: Nice!
Me: Yeah, he just said not to drink with it.
Heidi: Why?
Me: I don't know.
Heidi: Hmm.
Me: So, I'm going to Kroger to buy a bottle of wine. Are you in?
Heidi: Yeah!
Me: Good. I didn't really want to drink alone, but I totally would have.
So, Heidi and I drank some wine and watched Friends (season 4), then did pilates*, and then drank more wine and watched a really mediocre movie that is only saved by the overwhelming dreaminess that is Mr. Hugh Jackman. I mean, seriously. Check it out.
*For future reference, it is not a good idea to do pilates after drinking wine. It will only make you extra giggly when Mari Windsor says, "reach around."
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