Gas is like an arm to fill up your car.
Bread costs a leg.
Dance classes and competition, BOTH kidneys.
To boot, Hubby got his work week cut by a day.
Would be dandy if we were sitting on a golden nest egg or invested in Apple back in the day.
But we're not, we didn't.
I've been sick all weekend about it.
I haven't worked in 12 years.
Well, outside the home.
I'm not employable.
I've only been managed by K-lish speaking, 3-foot, 4 year-olds.
Only been bossed around by tweens with raging hormones.
Only been told what to do by a son who knows how to karate chop me into my place if need be.
Me? A real job?
The sweat is beading on my forehead as we speak.
Going to head to the office of education this week and beg to substitute teach once a week.
Because, people do that, beg to be disrespected in the classroom by 30-California-crammed-students.
What else can I do.
um....well. I blog.
I review products.
I sell advertising space.
What does that mean to our household income.
Not much at all.
I guess now I buy lottery tickets with dug-up couch money and pray for the best.
Pray with me okay.