March fools!

This growing up thing has got to stop. The world is a bitter, bitter place that I was not exposed to under the protective feathers of my parents' wings. I thought stamps just magically appeared from my mom's purse, I didn't know they cost money. Seven bucks for three pairs of underwear, people. Hanes her way, my eye. And laundry detergent does not replenish itself, nor is it cheap. Who knew life cost so much?

I am now employed at the cafeteria. They call my position "pots and pans." I feel very much like Scarlett O'Hara, hiding her once-white and soft hands from Rhett Butler. My hands are dry and cut, my nails are frail and breaking, and by the end of my 3-hour shift my fingers resemble little sausages swollen and wrinkled with water. I have dreams about elbow-length, squeaky yellow rubber gloves. I just keep telling myself I'll be thankful for these pots and pans when I'm sporting a sweatshirt from Boston and walking through Louisa May Alcott's house. My magnet shaped like Mark Twain's head and the bread bowl of authentic New England clam chowder will make the accidental drop of bleach on my jeans and the way my hair smells like it's been fried in oil every Wednesday and Friday all worth while.

A little pick-me-up:
"Life's tough, then you die." ~ Dr. Anderson's fatalistic bumper sticker

Or if that didn't do it: http://youtube.com/watch?v=3LVXjB_VUfk