I'd eat 20.
And wet news is no news to be read.
He had already called and complained a number of times by this point and had had enough. But mom still wanted the week’s Penny Saver coupons. Now, we’d been tasked with buying the Saturday paper ourselves at the local Cards & Gifts shop on the corner on the way home from mornings at Home Depot.
“You’re about to enter high school this year,” was likely how the conversation started. “Your mother and I think maybe it’s time you consider working a part-time job.”
I actually agreed.
“But,” he went on, “when someone asks how old you are - you’re not 13. You’re almost 14. It sounds better.”
It did sound better. I was more mature already.
How could I have known that just one minute later, as my dad parked in front of the store and waited in the car, I was about to have my first real job interview.
I passed the scrutiny of her discerning eye.
“How old are you?” were literally the first words out of the cashier’s mouth.
“I’m almost 14,” I simpered, a little proud.
“Would you like a job?”
And that was that.
We’d no longer be buying the Saturday paper at the local Cards & Gifts shop on the corner on the way home from mornings at Home Depot.
I brought it home now. (Fo’ free!)
I’m still not an enthusiastic riser.