orange you glad it’s march?

11 Mar

Tonight the restaurant was super duper busy so I ditched my day off for awhile to help out. I was sad to leave the fam because they’re all so damn cute, but on the plus side, I got some hardcore singing in on the ride there.
A couple of friends were noshing in the corner so I sat down with them for a few spare minutes to shoot the shit. They’re totally old (like in their 40s) and they call us “their young friends.” I call them “like my parents only cooler,” but only behind their backs so hopefully they don’t read my blog. I recommended a dessert that we were out of, then complained to them about how Harry told me I shouldn’t wear my (insanely ridiculously unbelievable) new cowboy boots to work.
“You have the best job…” Jill said. I started to argue with her, and readied myself to tell her about how I think I broke my toe getting my stiletto caught in a greasy mat, or the verbal abuse I suffer on weekends from hungry assholes, or the number of times I clean the ladies room a night.
But then I remembered a photo that my bartender snapped of me this weekend while I was doing a little redecorating on our chalkboard.

Some of you make a living sitting behind a desk, or maybe even have a cool job where you stand at one. I stand on a countertop in my high heels (fully clothed) with an orange piece of chalk and cheer for my #1 seed team.
I’m a lucky broad.


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