Freakin A

So I was going to compose this long, self-indulgent post about how Mikey got this fabulous new job last week after his first interview and that it was starting to rain puppies and rainbows over here and just as I was writing up my Target shopping list (not that I stick to the list anyway) he calls me this afternoon and says…

“I don’t know honey….something’s just not right. It feels like there’s a lot of questions I’m not getting answered and I’m just sort of feeling…..sketchy about the whole thing.”

“But TARGET!” I replied.

“I know babe, but they have me on the company bank accounts and if there’s anything fishy going on and they go down, i’m gonna go down with them. I think i need to look for something more……legal.”

“But………….Target,” I whined.

“k….maybe you aren’t hearing me correctly. Job. No Good. Boss. Crazy Liar. Need. To. Get. OUT. NOW.

target” I whimpered.

So the husband comes home, looking mighty hot I might add in his new work clothes that he spent a well-deserved fortune on last weekend, and proceeds to Google the crap out of his current employer, only to find that the freakshow has had like ten aliases, been sued dozens of times, been taken to court by some pretty scary sounding government groups, and has had like ten failed businesses.

I get it now.

So back to the drawing board.

The husband is back on the market.

JOB market girls. JOB market.

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