The saga of the fractured foot continues. For the past month my right leg has been encased in either a hot pink cast or a horribly cumbersome Star Wars Storm Trooper boot. Both equally awkward in their own way. And I’m not allowed to drive. I wonder if that’s something I can forget or is it like a bike? I guess I’ll find out.
Wearing ‘the boot’ totally makes me feel like one of my doggies when they have to wear one of those cones and have no sense of space and crash into everything. So sad. The boot becomes all the more interesting when you haven’t had a job interview in ages and all of a sudden you have three in a row. And you can’t drive. And your husband is in Las Vegas. And your crutches aren’t even blinged out one bit. And the doors at coffee shops are heavy and you have to wait for people to come to your rescuse. And you have to find an outfit that is somewhat professional in spite of the cumbersome grey or pink thing on your leg. And then people ask me what happened. The story in and of itself is rather embarrassing in a really ‘funny if you know me kind of way.’ I really should be encased in bubble wrap and wearing a helmet at all times.
I’m pleased to say that I think all three interviews went well. I looked as kicky and professional as possible. I should know more next week. The one thing I do know is the agency I’m interviewing with is in an old building with lots of stairs and no elevator. Seriously. I wonder if they would put a desk in the lobby for me?
Until next time…Moose out.
P.S. Yesterday was my 49th birthday. I don’t think I need to say anymore.