I haven’t done much blogging lately but it seems prudent to tie up a loose end that the few who read this blog might still be wondering about.
I kicked my husband out of the house.
Right back into the employment rolls. (Sorry, I couldn’t resist.)
Between the hours of 7 AM and 4 PM, Monday through Friday, he isn’t allowed at home. Yes, he’s now officially (under) employed with the City. If you want to know the truth, he’s working at the Waste Water Plant. In other words: sewage. Before ugly rumors start flying, let me state that it is safe to shake his hand. He is not working with sewage. But he is working near sewage.
- This job is a 35% pay cut from his last job.
- Scratch that: the mayor just announced across-the-board salary cuts, including another 5% for Scott. This job is now a 40% pay cut from his last job.
- Benefits don’t kick in until March.
- He has to work near poo.
- He has to come home to poo. Because we’re still potty training.
- It’s a government job. (I used to think all the cliches about government jobs couldn’t possibly be true, at least not in one smallish city like ours. I’m starting to rethink that skepticism…)
- He’s earning a paycheck again.
- He’s out of the house.
- He has fair amount of job security. (No matter how bad the economy, nobody starts thinking: “Well, we’ve clipped as many coupons as possible. Maybe DIY sewage treatment will give us that extra budget cushion…”)
Being a government employee would make me want to drown myself in a clarifier, but my hero is much more pragmatic than I. And I am thrilled he has a job, even one that stinks. So to speak. Thank you, Lord! And thanks to all of you who have offered kind words — and potential job contacts! — over the last couple of months.
Housekeeping Note: If you’d like to get an email notification when I add a new post to this blog, you can try the new widget (upper right under the header). Then either add your email address or, if you are a WordPress user, click “Subscribe. ”
Or you could read all of these updates on my Twitter account. Except that I don’t tweet. I’m not even on Twitter. I’m not cool like that.
Which means if you read tweets from me, they’re fake. Which could mean I have a clone trying to steal my life. Which means she’ll be disappointed: I’m not very exciting.
But maybe her version of me is exciting. And cool. Maybe I should meet her for coffee. Maybe I should try to steal her life… Is that wrong?
Leave a Comment