So, today I was fired, kinda, not really.
Honestly, I giggled at the hilarity of it all. I haven’t ever been "fired." And it’s not like I did something awful and lost the company millions of dollars. I did everything right. I did everything anyone asked of me. I did it better.
It just “wasn’t in the budget.” It’s always the budget’s fault. Or at least it makes a non-personable scapegoat.
I would be way more upset if I weren’t leaving on a jet plane tomorrow.
So I walked to the Reading Terminal. The boyfriend got a coveted position. I have a place to live next year. We’re happy and we all have our health. There are always reasons to celebrate.
I walked through the terminal with cupcakes in hand and a baguette sticking out of my tote bag. I want to live this way forever- picking up food at the market, smelling it and knowing where it was grown, bringing home sweets to my Sweet, tricking myself into thinking this was how I would live if I were in the French countryside.
I walked past the butcher.
The man behind the counter was handsome, tall, with long dark hair pulled back into a loose bun. If I weren’t seeing someone, if I didn’t mind bloodied aprons, or tactless flirtation, I would have given him a second look. What I did give a glance to was what was in the case: shoulders, legs, wings, ribs, of things that used to run and fly.
“Can I interest you in something?”
Yeah I know he wasn’t talking about meat, at least not the kind under the glass.
“Hmm,” I said. “You know, I don’t eat meat. Have a nice day”