Don’t Stress Out.

“Don’t stress out,” he said, as he walked out the door to go to work.

“I’m moving today and I have a job interview. Those are a couple of the most stressful things known to man!”

Fortunately, I an not a man.

I am a woman.

A beautiful woman.

An intelligent woman.

A woman who knows how to handle these things without freaking out, eating everything in the fridge, playing with her cats for two straight hours instead of preparing

A woman who has learned the secret of procrastination…

Ah, yes, a fine woman.

That’s me.

A woman who doesn’t burn her clothes when she irons them because her wardrobe consists of mostly clothes she does not need to iron.

A wise woman who chose a good husband who does all the actual labor behind moving homes for her.

…so that she can then spend months trying to figure out where everything is…

Because that’s something she likes to do!

A unique woman, indeed.

‘:’

Perhaps I should shower now.

The interview is in an hour.

I don’t know what to wear yet. I think my black dress. Yes, the black dress.

Black dress to the rescue.

With a gray blazer.

Black pumps.

Oh! whoops- I still have to do my nails.

Breakfast? I can’t decide.

What if it upsets my stomach?

I should probably eat something.

Just to calm my nerves.

In case I get nervous.

I feel fine.

Really.

And for the record, I only played with one of my cats for an hour. Not two.

I should really go do my nails.

“Don’t stress out,” he said, as he walked out the door…

What a way to jinx it.

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