Today the complaints kept pouring in. My eldest daughter couldn’t find her favourite skinny jeans, my husband was out of matching socks, my youngest son had to send out an APB for his lost shoe, and my youngest daughter slipped in a pool of lemonade, I hadn’t had time to mop up yet.
I looked at them hopefully: would this mean I’ld finally get fired, and be able to get some rest? But noooo, after filing their complaints they all looked at me expectantly to come up with a solution. Sadly I could nót leave the premises covered in shame for poor performance.
So I sighed, got a mop, pulled the skinny jeans and socks out of the hamper, found the shoe that had gone awol, put a cast on my daughters leg and mopped the floor.
What a job: 24-hour shifts, seven days a week, and no chance of getting fired.