An intern.
If I got the job.
I applied as an intern.
That was the only spot they had available. For me, anyway. Not too surprising, given that I had next to zero experience—I knew how to use a computer, is that good enough? No—and needed a job—desperation doesn't suit me well.
"Would you still love me if I was an intern, Yanks?"
Meow.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," I said. "Enjoy your dinner. I'm going out tonight. The boys and I are ready to hit the town." I popped my collar, striking a pose that I thought made me look quite rakish. "How do I look?"
Munch. Crunch. Pause. Crunchcrunch. Munch.
"Stunning as always? My, my, you are too kind," I responded, pretending to bow, extending my hand outwards with an extravagant flourish.
Things were going to get better.
They had to.
Running a hand through my unruly waves, I shot myself a goofy looking glance in the mirror—tongue waggling, eyebrows arched every which way—before grabbing the keys.
Perfect.
"Later, Yanks. Don't stay up too late."
YOU ARE READING
Alone At Last
Humorbeing alone isn't that bad. /cats are ok /too many thoughts /but in the end people are /sweet /simple /dreaming in /easy yet complex /alone with my thoughts
