“Mommy, where are you going?”
“Out, sweet girl.”
“Are you going to work?”
“…No sweetie, mommy doesn’t go to work. You are my work.”
“But you’re wearing a working shirt, Mommy.”
“Yes, E, you’re right. This does look like a shirt someone would wear to work.”
“What time is your meeting?”
With that, I gave up. Truthfully, it was a shirt combination I wore to the office years ago when I had a job that provided intellectual stimulation/adult conversation/a pretty little paycheck.
Right now, this is my job. And last night’s meeting was a much needed dinner with a group of lovely mommies and my very own crème brûlée for dessert. And I didn’t share one bite.
Happy Friday, readers. It’s another damp, chilly day so the girls and I are off to the gym and a child-mandated trip to Target. The boss-girl needs oranges and “we don’t have any” isn’t an acceptable excuse. She’s relentless.