It’s the eight (or ten) hours of waiting until I can go home. Ha ha.
Typical comment when I tell someone what I do for a living, “That must be so much fun!”
Fun is not the word I would choose, but I never say that. So many jobs look like a blast to me and I would be crushed to have anyone burst those bubbles. Don’t want to know that my imagined version of glamour is sometimes a grind.
My job is real interesting. Lots of nice edible perks. And I never wear pantyhose. Course no one much does anymore these days. From what I can tell on the streets, office workers now go to work in their flip flops. I’m an industrial clog girl. Strap on that apron and I’m ready to go. Oh, and some of that expensive Dr. Hauschka lipstick. (One stop shopping. I get it at Whole Foods. Too bad they don’t sell underwear and socks there, too.) Someone forgot to style me before they snapped this pic.
The Lunch Encounter 