Mondays Are Like This

I know of no world in which foie gras and beer makes a proper meal, and yet that is what we ate for dinner last night. It should go without saying that I chose to take the stairs today, despite it being an “off” morning.

At the top of the fourth flight a marveled at my glorious ineptitude at climbing stairs. I am so out of shape. I was huffing and puffing and dizzy and completely embarrassed. People my age should not have this much trouble with stairs.

Last night I started a short stint as a volunteer for thisorganization. Perhaps it was exhaustion (I should have brought a snack) but it really hurt my feelings that the children laughed when I introduced myself as a secretary.

“You should have told them you are the Office Manager, that’s much more impressive,” Husband said.

“Yeah, but I was trying to teach the kids that anyone can be a writer,” I replied, defending my choice to not tell them I was a something more important than a glorified typist.

“They don’t care! They just want to be impressed.” Husband explained, Frenchly*.

I pouted and told him he was wrong and I felt butt hurt about it anyway.

Of course he was right, goddamn him. The truth is, my ego had been bruised by the cute hipster girl who was also volunteering who introduced herself as a writer. She has an MFA in creative writing and somehow this makes her a credible writer, whilst I am simply a secretary. Yes, I was wanted the spotlight on me, I am not too proud to say it.

Though I am apparently too proud to admit that I am a writer. So there is that.

Thankfully I have therapy tonight. I obviously need to talk about some things.

*Frenchly: adj. - a new word I invented to describe the act of acting particularly FRENCH.