I actually put on a pair of jeans to go to the doc on Monday. I couldn't keep 'em buttoned for lengths at a time, and they hang off me like a grandma's underwears, but the doc smiled. A LOT. Told me everything was healing nicely, poked, poked, poked. OW. Naturally, I expected the pain.
Then mom dragged me into borders to find books for her upcoming trip. (Oh yes, there will BE no pierogi day this year, don't get me started about the Easter thing.)
We went to get haircuts. Then she wanted to get me a "going back to work outfit" because well, let's face it, I DO look like I'm playing dress-up in mommy's clothes. Losing 60+ does that. She just said, "hey, let's go next door and get you something that FITS you..." LOL
I'm telling you, a fistula and a mashed potato-broth diet? Best EVER! (right)
Anyway, I am down FOUR sizes, can shop in the "misses" section again, and was all excited to get back to work and then...
this morning I get a phone call...
"We're gonna have to let you go."
Yep, peeps, I am now unemployed. Talk about kicking a girl while she's down. Not to mention on medical leave. . . "it was a company decision..." "it was a financial decision..." ..."job performance..."
What the hell am I gonna do with all these cookies I baked and planned to take in Monday???
Happy fucking Hump Day...