The last few days have been spent trying to get used to this thing called "laid off". Actually, I'm not laid off, I'm laid out....out without a job. Laid off is when a person is going to be called back. Laid out is when a person is up a creek without even the Seven Dwarfs to help row the boat ashore.
So, in spite of the unemployed bum that I've suddenly become (not really but exaggerating for blogger sake) I've enjoyed a couple of days with just Boo and I. We've run errands, smooched in the middle of the grocery store, the Jiffy Lube and almost groped each other in the produce section. (I said, "almost".)
Today, we got home and in 117 degree heat, you strip the moment you walk in the door. Thank God we have plenty of hedges so there's privacy everywhere. I'm wearing booty shorts (more booty than shorts) and a t shirt (still had the bra on but barely). There's a knock on the door. I'm racing to get Sam, the shih tzu aka the Biter. I bend over and look through my legs to see the pastor walking in. Butt cheeks hanging out, I'm struggling to get Sam in the room, behind closed door while willing, no, praying my butt cheeks to firm up and hide in my shorts.
Boo, being the ever so gracious host, invites him to have a seat. I'm smiling while glaring at Boo. The Pastor is actually an ex co-worker's husband who has been inviting us to his church for weeks. He chose this time, please his heart, to come by and offer his condolences on the loss of my job.
In the middle of talking about how God has plans for me...I get something in my eye. I'm rubbing my eye while tears are pouring. I'm thinking he must be thinking that I'm touched by what he's sharing. I can't take it any longer so I snatch the contact out of my eye. Then, when he's not focusing, I put the contact in my mouth. (Gross, I know). My eyes continue to water. I shove the contact in my eye while he eyes me with compassion and possibly, pity. He looks at me one more time and surveys the booty shorts, the teary eyes and says, "I won't keep you but let's pray before I go."
That meant standing up one more time, while tugging on my shorts, squeezing my butt cheeks tight to keep them hidden inside my shorts and wiping the tears from my eyes.
Close Encounters of the Caymanian Kind
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