Fire Me, Please!

Not too long ago yet another study was conducted on a housewife/mother would earn if she actually received an annual salary.  Yet again, they (whoever “They” are) grossly underestimated our net worth.

And the worse part?  We don’t get the option of being fired like the big banker guys. Please. Fire me. Now. I want the millions of dollars for not showing up to work.  Or, if I need quiet time, for showing up and not having to do anything.

I want the free office space in downtown Charlotte.  I could have my chauffer drop me off at the front door, never again to break out in a sweat maneuvering the myriad of downtown streets clogged with construction, the pricey parking decks and 42 entrances to one building.  I’d shut the door to my complimentary office space and take a nap.

Or watch TV with sole possession of the remote control. Or eat the last brownie without having to share.

But mostly, I want the Administrative Assistant.  The fired guy doesn’t have a job. Why does he need an administrative assistant?  Besides, he already has a wife. 

Gosh, if I had a wife/administrative assistant, I would be sooo much more productive!  I’d have written 12 more books, finished all the family photo albums and scrapbooks, trained for a triathlon and, on any given day of the week, would always have a dinner consisting of at least two colors planned more than 3 minutes in advance. 

The Health Department would never show up after complaints from the Dust Bunny Colonies on the overcrowded, inhumane living conditions under my furniture.

The vet would never scold me for waiting too long to get my Miniature Dachshund’s nails clipped.  I’d take my dogs on more walks instead of throwing one stick, yelling “Go get it boy!” then darting back in the house before they return.

If I were fired I’d have time to play tennis again. And with my severance pay, I could afford the cutest tennis skirts! And a cute coach to boot.  All at my new exclusive country club which naturally would be part of my severance package.

I could hire someone else to cut my grass, build landscape walls, garden, lay a flagstone patio and pull weeds.  Maybe then my fingernails would stand a chance of growing, which would be handy since I’d have the time and money for regular manicures.

My heart flutters when I imagine having the time (or helper) to clean my bathrooms before they develop Ring Around The Toilet.  Or alien life forms behind the caulk in my shower.

Yep, if I got “fired” the way big bank executives do, I’d accomplish sooo much more in my life.  Okay, maybe not the triathlon, but definitely the pictures albums. And the tennis coach.

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