...leads, inevitably, to sandwiches also. They're easier to carry.
Tonight The World's Greatest Husband begins a second job. Thank YOU, Mr. George W. Bush and your first-class wrecking of our already-ailing economy! The reader will understand if Mama wants to roll back the Reagan-era tax cuts for the wealthy, from the 80's; as well as let the Bush tax cuts for the wealthy expire. Ahem. Anyway, yes, he is getting a raise at the full time job, but the miracles of compound interest on accrued credit card debt, run up just to keep moving forward while in search of new ways of life, has us btoh taking on plenty of extra, umm, "earning opportunities," if you will.
Thus it is that I have packed him one helluva sandwich, as he will be eating in the car, driving from his full time commission-sales gig to his brand new part-time telephone-research call-center gig. And I? I return to the Big Retailer with the Giant Red Bullseye logo tomorrow, as a financial support system for the wonderful play I'm currently rehearsing (which pays a very generous stipend, but not for another seven weeks). We will both be carrying sandwiches tomorrow. And for quite a few working days thereafter.
It's a real bitch to be a baby-boomer these days; we were skimmed off the workforce like rancid cream off old milk during the Great Layoffs of '08, and we represent millions just like us. Like we have to get punished for our parents' generation's proclivity to over-breed. So a lot of people from the general area of graduated-high-school-in-the-the 70's are working too hard, too much, for too little, after their savings and 401(k)'s were destroyed and their career paths wiped off the face of the collective map.
All hail Soup, and Sandwich, blue collar foods for the new Depression.
I have black beans soaking on the stove.
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