Annual resolution post…

It’s about time for my once a year New Year’s post. I figured I would get a jump on it a little early this year. Previously, I have made goals for myself that I have not achieved, 2017 was no different. I never figured out who I was or found a hobby or even tried to contemplate what I bring to the table. I wanted to focus more on writing and really have a head start in pursuing that, which I also didn’t do.

I have lived in three different states the over the last seven years and I am never quite sure when I will be leaving each state. I have let this looming unknown dictate how I run my life. I have passed up promotions, friendships, vacations, etc., because I am never sure how permanent my situation will be. Recently, like yesterday recently, I learned that my husband has been doing the same thing. He doesn’t want to start anything too long term in the states that we have been in, because they aren’t our home. Hearing him say this out loud initially upset me, but I realized I had been doing the same thing. I have even told people that ask me why I haven’t moved up in the company I work for that it is because I am waiting until we move home. Well, in 2018 we will be moving back “home”. We will be surrounded by our family again and trying to lay roots of our own, finally. Travelling has been incredible and I have learned a lot, but it will be nice to make a little more money and maybe go on some vacations, oh yeah, and achieve previous goals I have set. I have been setting goals for myself that I somehow knew I would not reach, because deep down I wasn’t ready to start pursuing them. That being said, I will not be setting any work or hobby related goals for myself this year. I just always end up disappointed this time of year.

Now, to take a complete one-eighty from work, I would like my goal this year to be to find out what body positivity means to me.

I hate myself. I get depressed every time I see a candid picture, getting dressed in the morning is a struggle, I am fully aware at all times of the food I am putting in my mouth and how it will negatively affect my waistline. The anxiety of obsessing over my meals and what is healthy and what isn’t healthy is becoming an all-consuming constant in my life and I would like to murder that obsession and throw into a lake.

I joined a gym a little over a year ago and Chase and I really threw ourselves into it, we had a great routine that lasted about a month and half. Then Chase hurt his back and I had no motivation to go on my own. I started to work at a new location while all of this was going on and my walk to work went from five minutes to over two miles there and back each day, which I was considering a perk since it totaled over thirty minutes of walking. Somewhere along the way I began to confuse my stroll to work with real exercise and treated my diet that way as well.

At the same time, I tried to embrace body positivity, which I don’t fully understand, and I challenged myself for a week to put on an outfit and leave it on, no matter what rolls were showing. This was liberating. It was the easiest week I had in a while. I threw clothes on, smiled at myself, ate what I felt like, and went on about my day. I liked it so much that I extended my weeklong trial into almost a month, until I realized that I was gaining weight. I was heavier than I was when I started and my clothes were starting to look less flattering than they were before. I noticed new rolls on my stomach that hadn’t been there two months before. This sent me over the edge. I started stressing about my outfits again and I couldn’t stop constantly thinking about AND eating food. I haven’t been able to recover.

So this year, I want to work on a healthy relationship with food, I want to stop OBSESSING, and most importantly I want to learn to love my body. I understand that being body positive doesn’t mean you just let yourself go and love it anyways, it means loving yourself enough to nourish it and take care of it, with some wiggle room. Well, actually as I stated before I don’t understand body positivity at all, but I am going to learn.  I assume it also means when you slip up and cant get it together you don’t shame yourself, you allow yourself the slip up and learn from it. I don’t know. I hope that I am not the only one who doesn’t get it.


Goodbye 2017, overall you were great, but I need a real health check for 2018.

(maybe a little minor goal will be to close out blog posts better…)



Tears for my Toilet.

Today I woke up and had a feeling it was going to be a bad day and from that moment on, it was. My husband just got a job that calls for a very late clock out time, which means he gets home late (or early depending on how you look at it) and needs to sleep in a little later than I would like to. In a normal world, this isn’t an issue, but in OUR world we live in a tiny studio. So, if he needs to sleep late then I need to sleep late or be quiet. This is hard for me.  I have to be at work anywhere between four and six in the morning, usually, so on my days off I’m up early.  The later I sleep in, the harder it is for me to go to sleep at a reasonable hour for such an early shift. He only works these late nights four days a week and I will usually work on the days he needs to sleep in, which is perfect for everyone, but the few days a month that I’ll want to get up and start my day when he needs to sleep in are going to be hard for me. TRUST ME, I am know I sound like a whiney bitch, but I love my mornings.

So today was day only day one (which makes me look even worse for ranting ALREADY, I KNOW!) and it was hard for me to adjust. He didn’t wake up until 10:30 and I would have achieved so much on a morning off alone by that time. So by the time he left for work I felt out of control and behind on my day off and ended up sitting on my couch for the entire day…like, the entire day. I let my dishes soak in the sink for hours, my lunch plate, complete with crumbs and dirty napkin, sat in front of me for at least two episodes of Quantico, and I never even bothered to change out of what I had slept in the night before. Man, what a sad series of words to lump together.

Being in a funk aside, the tank to my toilet decided to stop filling. I’m big on watching youtube videos to solve all of my apartment needs and it works 100 percent of the time, until today. Chase was home still to see me fix the problem this afternoon, we were both impressed with it. A few hours later, the problem arose again, and this time the previous solution didn’t work. So, I’ve spent my lazy miserable day filling a stock pot with water to slowly fill the toilet tank in order to flush it. Hopefully the maintenance manager of the apartment gets back to me soon, I think I may lose my mind. In the middle of filling the tank I had a mental break down and called my parents to walk me through fixing it, they were no help, but their laughter at my tears of frustration helped me to calm down. I guess they helped.

Our studio had a refrigerator that is smaller than your average, it fits enough, but not a lot. It is an art to arrange everything in a way that makes it all fit well together. I bet you’d never guess that one of the shelves completely snapped and everything that was housed on the shelf came crashing down to the floor. The only casualty was one sad bottle of hot sauce, but man what a shit show. I have to go shopping tomorrow now for some sort of containers to organize my fridge racks now, because a million random bottles of condiments are thrown all over it and its not working out. The heavier things on the racks make them bend a little, so everything narrow and longer, like a beer bottle or hot sauce bottle, tip over easily. This, in reality is also not a big fucking deal.

The reality is, I should be thankful that I have an apartment at all, a husband who works hard at undesirable hours to take care of us, a toilet, running water, and food. I am aware of this. But shiiiit, I need to vent sometimes and that is also okay. I was a lazy sad mess today for no real reason. I am convinced that it is because I woke up expecting it to be a bad day. Tomorrow I HAVE to wake up on the right side of the bed, I’ve got too much shit to do to make up for the lack of anything that I did today.

*kanye shrug.

Update on Sobriety.

Well here it is guys, the update on my sobriety that nobody asked for. Long story short, I failed. I don’t even think I made it through a full week after my original blog post about calming down without drinking. To top it all off, I got totally trashed at the wedding, commandeered the SHARED hotel bathroom I had with my IN-LAWS (!!!) to throw-up all over it after the wedding.

The night started off well, I nursed one drink and hung out with his parents and enjoyed the wedding. The wedding party, which Chase was a part of, toasted with forties, and they so kindly shared them with close friends of the wedding party, including myself. Thats when it went downhill. By the end of the night, the wedding party and their friends were the last ones standing and if my memory serves me correctly, we all surrounded the bar for the last hour of the reception taking shots of whatever the bartender would give us. I feel less embarrassed about that,  because everyone was trashed, we all went shot for shot with each other and we were all having a great, wasted time. But then I black out. One second I am taking a shot at the bar and the next second I am crying in the bathroom of the hotel surrounded by my own vomit after clogging the toilet.

The next morning, I woke up mortified. I had slept in the clothes I was meant to wear home that day instead of my pajamas, the rest of my clothes were hanging all over the bathroom to dry because I had tried to clean the mess with them , and all of the towels were in a heap behind the door. I began to have little flashbacks of things that happened in there and I bawled out of embarrassment. Chase and his parents didn’t seem to be upset with me, but fuck me, I felt so stupid. Chase assured me that at the wedding I was a good time and everyone was on the same wavelength, so thankfully my only source of shame came from the aftermath in the hotel. HOWEVER, it should have never gotten that far.

My brain is missing the censor in it that other people have that tells them to slow down when they need to. I’m convinced of it. Normal people can feel a buzz and relax and sip their drip, because they know they are feeling good. I feel buzz and think that I have to keep drinking or I will lose it. My issue has always been inability to regulate my intake, I want to keep feeling good all night and the voice inside that reminds me that “hey, if you keep drinking you’ll embarrass yourself,” gets silenced.

Is it addiction when you know you have a problem to fix and you neglect to take care of it, anyways? How come I can’t get my shit together. I vowed to stop drinking that morning, but have since drank. its been a month and I have had no more than two drinks per week, and have not gotten drunk either. I hope to keep this control going. My weaknesses are open bars, we will see how I act at the wedding we attend next month. I am not going to make any promises about not getting too drunk and controlling myself, because I seem to like disappointing myself.






Today, and for the past few days actually, my husband has been in a bit of a grumpy mood. This is unusual for him. It hasn’t been consistent, but one grumpy comment a day is way more than I am used to. I knew something weird had to be up today when he snapped on me for not wanted to grill by the lake today during a thunderstorm. In his defense, the storm had not started yet, but the sky was dark, it was humid and the weather app said we were due for a storm at any moment.

After the post grilling blow up, we sat in silence for a while before he jumped up and asked that we go for a walk. He “had to get out of the house.” So he took off and i followed behind him. I walked behind him in silence for a couple blocks until he settled on a random park bench for us to sit on. There, we continued to sit in silence until after what felt like forever he apologized for blowing up on me. He then proceeded to tell me about how maybe pursuing your passion as a career is overload and you’re just supposed to have your passion as a hobby and your career separate. He said he was just exhausted all the time trying to make ends me and wasn’t sure anymore if the life and future he thought he wanted was exactly what he wanted anymore. He thinks a boring job that gives him a good pay check and allows him to maybe travel, be home with me more, or pursue his passion at home, would be a better suited option. A big house, with a yard, and normal hours of work, is how he put it.

Yeah, whatever. That actually sounds like a really normal life choice and path to follow and normally someone would say “yeah I’m on board for the white picket fence dream.”

BUT for the past 5 years we have lived in two different states in studio apartments so that he can have cooking experience and learn and grow in different regions with the end goal of moving home to settle down and open a restaurant. We both signed up for this marriage and partnership together know that the end goal would be time consuming and for life, and we were both okay with that.

For me, the timing to drop this on me was not ideal. I was upset that he had been moody with me for the past week and extra upset that he wanted to have a life changing conversation with me afterwards. I want to support what makes him happy, ultimately, but right now I feel like my world has been rocked. He doesn’t see how what he’s shared is something that would affect me.

I don’t really know why I am posting about this right now. I just feel confused. I am not mad at him, I am just confused. What do I really want then in relation to his new dream?  I don’t know what I want. Maybe that is part of the problem. Maybe him being able to say out loud that he feels like what he is doing with leave him unsatisfied makes me envious that wouldn’t be brave enough to admit something like that. I mean, I know the job that I have now isn’t my forever job, but his decision may push me jump into a forever job sooner than I am ready to dive.

Who knows? Just had to get that out there somewhere. More to come eventually.


Drink Responsibly?

I often worry that I may be an alcoholic. Dependency runs in my family and I was raised with the knowledge that addiction wouldn’t be out of the question, due to my families history. I never felt like I was addicted to anything, nor do I REALLY believe that I am an alcoholic, but occasionally I wake up after a night of drinking and cringe.
It’s the cringe that worries me. I have never done anything truly bad while drinking other than start the occasional fight with my husband for no reason, but it’s been a very long time since I have done that.
When we lived in Charleston, there were extended periods of time when I would go out and drink days in a row. After a lot of those nights I would go home and vent to my husband about all the little things that annoy me and a fight would begin. He never held it against me the next day, but I always felt awful about it.
Ever since moving to Chicago I haven’t had a single night like that. This led me to reflect upon reasons for more responsible drinking in Chicago, and all I can come up with is that I am way less bored in Chicago. In Charleston, Chase worked a schedule that kept him at work for over fifteen hours a day and I was alone most of the time. I felt alone most of the time and anxious about the amount of time we actually spent together. In Chicago, we both go to work early and are both home together for dinner every night. We both have groups of friends here that we spend time with and go out with on occasion, as well, which is something neither of us had in Charleston.
The amount that I drink has dramatically decreased since I have moved from Charleston, but once in a while I will still drink too much. I wake up with a miserable hungover, I can’t remember conversations that I had with the people that I went out with, I have specific memories of thoughts when I knew should stop drinking but continued to, because I like to be the life of the party. That being said, I have never missed work, lost friends, done anything illegal, or really done anything life ruining while drunk, I’m just starting to realize that it’s not so cool to be 28 and wasted in public and miserable the next day.

I love a good cocktail and really enjoy a nice cold beer. I like the social aspect of drinking on a patio on a warm summers day. I don’t want to stop drinking all together, but I really want to get myself to a place where I can recognize that I enjoyed my cocktail or my cold beer and then I can stop. I don’t always have to drink to get buzzed and that’s okay.

For the next month I would like to try to drink water only, and then reintroduce drinking as treat and not as a necessity. We have a wedding that we are going home for next month and those are usually triggers for me, I love the open bar and I love dancing with all the people I haven’t seen in a long time. In that setting I am not the only one who is very drunk, but it is okay for me to not be that drunk, too. I need to learn. I also have plans to spend time with my group of childhood friends, which also turns into an out until last call kind of night, which is fun, but that doesn’t mean I need to be stumbling home.

In conclusion, I am aware that I may have an issue with alcohol consumption and I am making it my goal to go home to this wedding and spending time with old friends without getting trashed. And having made this goal a thing that I can look back at as a reminder of how bad I feel when this happens, hopefully it’ll keep me honest. If not, it will be time to completely reevaluate my relationship with alcohol.

Making it about ME

This past year, I spent a majority of my time just getting by. In fact, I have spent most of my adult life just getting by. 2016 was a wonderful year. I moved to Chicago with my husband and we are living life and embracing this new experience. However, we have faced the reality that Chicago is expensive and perhaps we don’t make enough money to support our desire to live here. He has a job that he loves which makes his wage worth it, regardless. I have a job that I kind of like which makes my wage less worth it. I have more potential and I know it, I am terribly afraid of branching out and failing, though. I always have been.

He has been pursuing his passion of cooking for years now it is his dream to open a restaurant of his own one day and this is a dream that I stand behind. I, however, have no idea how to pursue my own dreams. I am currently a barista, which is fun but is by no means my dream job. I have had opportunities within the company that I work for to move up, but because of my lack of desire to stay with the company FOREVER (even though it has been six years already) I have turned them down. I have searched for other jobs or career paths, but I have no idea what that looks like. I don’t know what I want to do.

It was brought to my attention during a visit home in 2016 that everyone in my family and in his family think I am great for dropping everything and following my husband in pursuit of his dreams. They think it is incredibly supportive and brave. I love to support him and admire the moves he makes everyday, but it hit me hard that I DON’T DO ANYTHING FOR MYSELF. Next time I go home I want my family and friends to praise the things I am doing to better myself. I never imagined that I’d get lost in what someone else was doing.

So, this year, I hope to make it year dedicated to myself. I need to do things out of my comfort zone, say yes to the promotions, take time to do things I enjoy, make decisions that aren’t solely dependent on how I think my husband will respond to them, etc.

I hope that by this time next year I can look back on the previous year and reflect on the things i did to better by myself. via Daily Prompt: Year





          Angie rushed into Mrs. Smith’s kitchen, warm rag in hand, and knelt on the floor beside Mrs. Smith. There were strawberry and matcha smoothie remnants being smashed into her expensive fur rug. For fuck’s sake why does this idiot woman have a fur rug in her kitchen? Angie thought to herself as she scrubbed. She had to simultaneous work the chunks of smoothie out of the carpet while keeping it from knotting at the same time.

Mrs. Smith tapped her fingers on her marble countertop, as if to let Angie know she was growing impatient. “Por Favor, An-hell-ica, can’t you go any faster?” She scrolled through her cell phone has she let out a bored sigh. Angie could go faster if Mrs. Smith would move out of the way, but since she was standing on the stain without any intention of budging, it was becoming a harder task than it should have been. God forbid Angie ask that she move, she would lose half a days pay for “talking back.”

Angie’s little thrill for the day would be cleaning Mrs. Smith’s rug with warm water, she demanded that she read the label on the rug when she first purchased it to guarantee that Angie would never fuck it up. The first instruction is to never use hot water. It also instructs that it be rinsed a few times with cold water and that if detergent must be used, make it a mild shampoo. That being noted, Angie decided to use a diluted bleach to clean it. Mrs. Smith would never bend over and read the fur rug label to know the difference. As a plus, Mrs. Smith hated the scent of bleach, which would also count as one of Angie’s little thrills.

Angie would go home each day and share her “little thrills” with her twin sister, Andrea. It all started when Angie was sick one day and convinced her sister to take her place. “I promise, “ she begged her sister, “she will never know! Just nod your head and smile at everything she says.”

“You never say anything to her all day?” Andrea asked in disbelief.

“No, she is convinced that my English is poor. The few times I have spoken to her she has let me know that it is not my place to correct her. So I find that the smile and nod approach is best suited for the work relationship.” Angie shrugged the lowly feelings of being condescended everyday off with a swig of orange juice.

“She sounds ridiculous, but I guess I will do it. If this blows up and you lose your job I am not responsible for this.” With that, Andrea changed into her sisters work uniform, a set of black scrubs, and headed out.

Angie always considered that her first thrill. She loved knowing that she got one over on her boss. Andrea had nothing exciting to report on when she got home and didn’t find that Mrs. Smith was as terrible as Angie had described, but Angie knew that if she had gone back for a second day, she would know the truth.

Angie rose from the kitchen floor to get her bleach mixture from the laundry room. Mrs. Smith was so wrapped up in her Instagram feed to even notice that Angie wasn’t scurrying at her feet anymore. While Angie slowly made her way to cleaning supplies, she noticed the exposed pantry that she was instructed to keep dust free and stocked. This was more of a joke, because she had fake food on display. She had a large wire basket on the top shelf filled with pastries, plastic pastries, of course. Mrs. Smith hadn’t touched a pastry since she was a child. The shelf below the pastry display had fruits, beautiful, bright, vibrant fruit. To glance once one would believe them to be real, but to glance twice would make it obvious that it was fake, no fruit looks that perfect. The bottom shelf contained specialty pastas and celebrity brand sauces, which would really lead one to believe that she cooked. Below was a minibar. It was a rose gold cart that matched her cream and gold-specked marble countertops. She had all of her alcohol poured into elegant crystal decanters with a marble ice bin and glass shaker that both had gold accents. The pantry presentation really tied the whole kitchen together. Despite the ridiculous fur rug under her island Mrs. Smith really had a beautiful kitchen. Angie shook off the compliment, Mrs. Smith didn’t design an inch of that kitchen, she didn’t even pay attention when the paperwork was presented to her. She just hired the best and the most expensive to impress her husband, but let them hold the reigns. Little did she know, her husband didn’t give a shit about anything that she did.

Angie became lightheaded for a second while she mixed the bleach and water together. Her intention was to use just a touch of bleach, but the aroma was so overwhelming she knew she had used too much. Oh well, she thought to herself.

“An-hell-ica! Where did you go? I hope you don’t think this carpet is clean. Vamonos!” She snapped her fingers. Angie bit her tongue and rolled her eyes in private before going back into the kitchen. Listening to Mrs. Smith yell incorrect commands at her in Spanish made her cringe.

“I’m sorry ma’am, I was just getting carpet cleaner for the rug, the strawberry isn’t coming out.” Angie smiled while she said it, because she knew that Mrs. Smith despised being called ‘ma’am.’ Almost as much as Angie hated being called ‘An-hell-ica.’

“Your English is poor, you don’t have to speak to me and if you must address do not call me ‘ma’am’.” And with that, she stomped her kitten heels straight out of the kitchen.

Angie could add calling her ma’am onto her list of little thrills. Three was a lot for one day, she felt like she might be taking advantage of a good thing.

There was a knock at the door, which meant Angie had to abandon the rug temporarily to answer it. Mrs. Smith was likely to be sitting on the couch near it, but why would she move when she paid Angie to move for her?

“Could you move any slower?” She barked at Angie as she moved towards the door. Her guest continued to knock, as if no one could hear her, over and over. Angie couldn’t vocalize that she heard the guest without being out of line and Mrs. Smith would never raise her voice to a guest, just to the help.

When Angie answered the door she discovered Mrs. Smith’s friend, Jen. Jen grunted at the sight of Angie, “took you long enough.” She pushed passed her while handing off her coat for Angie to take care of. “There isn’t anything in the pockets, so don’t check.” She blew a bubble with her gum and sat beside Mrs. Smith on the couch while they both laughed together at Angie’s expense.

You do this for your son, Angie reminded herself. Angie was a third generation United States citizen. It infuriated her that these women read her name and saw her darker skin and dark hair and assumed she didn’t speak English. It enraged her that she was assumed to be a crook. Her mom created a business of cleaning houses and raised her five children by herself off of the empire she created. Angie was proud to be a part of that. It wasn’t permanent by any means, but it helped keep her child fed while she went to college. She grew up watching her mom work hard while maintaining a loving home and she wanted her son to see her do the same. Lately, it’s been harder to keep in good spirits while at home. It had started to take a toll on Angie mentally to be treated like this day in and day out without having the backbone to stand up for herself.

Slight satisfaction took over while she spread the bleach solution over the stained rug. She could already see the fur negatively reacting to the treatment, it began to shed and fray.

“I can smell the bleach from here! Gross! Open a window, now! I told you I don’t like it when you use bleach.” Mrs. Smith yelled into the kitchen. After that she said to Jen, “if only she understood half the shit I said, we wouldn’t have this problem all of the time.” She grunted in annoyance then addressed Angie again, “Angie, we are waiting in here for our drinks. What is taking you so long, I feel like I shouldn’t even have to ask.”

“Coming right up.” Angie shook her head, what she would really like to do is mix that bleach right into her afternoon cocktail. When did she let Mrs. Smith turn her into her servant instead of the house cleaner?

Along with the list of little thrills that Angie kept, she also had a list of little murders. She would sometimes imagine subtle ways to take Mrs. Smith out, but the scene always played out with her getting caught. The best-case scenario for a clean get away would be water resistant lubricant of some kind on her shower floor; she would slip, hit her head, and die instantly. The police would never know she didn’t innocently slip from soap build up. At the very worst Angie could get herself out of it by claiming she didn’t know the cleaner she had used was water resistant. But in the end, Angie could never handle the idea of living with that on her conscience.

She hated that she had become this person. Her last client was an elderly woman named Lenore. Angie’s mother had taken care of her home first and they had such a great relationship that her mom claimed it was almost like hanging out with her own mother. Angie’s mom became ill and was no longer able to clean Lenore’s home and that is when Angie decided to join her mom’s business. She used to go play in Lenore’s home growing up while her mom cleaned she always treated Angie like family and it felt natural to return the favor.

A few years after she had taken on Lenore as a client, Angie’s mom had passed and Lenore had become a surrogate mother to her. Unfortunately, she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. Angie became a care taker for her, she would clean house, prepare her meals, sit with her, and help her take care of her grandchildren so that she could still see them when her children had to work. Lenore’s family trusted Angie and loved her as if she were part of the family.

This went on for a couple more years, Lenore continued to decline and Angie continued to stay by her side, they formed a mother-daughter bond that she couldn’t explain. Lenore was there with her for through her pregnancy and even got to hold her son before she passed. The day Lenore died was hard for Angie. She had already lost her real mother and to lose a mother who had taken her in by choice was just as hard. Angie had hoped to stay on with Lenore’s family, but her daughter unfortunately didn’t need any help. She could tell that when they let her go it was hard for them. They sat around with a bottle (or four) of wine and let their children play together while sharing stories about Lenore. It was bittersweet, she was thankful the experience and the second family she had gained, but was devastated to let it all go. They had stayed in touch for a few months, but after that drifted apart.

The separation from Lenore’s family led her right into the doorway of Mrs. Smith’s grand mansion. It was very different from Lenore’s modest, ranch-style, family home. Mrs. Smith’s home was cold and pristine. It required more attention to detail, like under the microscope type of detail, than Lenore’s did. It made Angie uncomfortable. Lenore was unable to clean for herself and needed the help and the companionship and Mrs. Smith was jobless and miserable and refused to do the cleaning herself.

The first week at her house, Angie believed that Mrs. Smith’s hard exterior would be broken down and they would connect. She would realize that Angie spoke perfect English and that friendly conversation was all she needed once in a while to make her less miserable. She would overhear Mrs. Smith begging her husband to come home sometimes and often found her crying in secluded parts of the house. Angie had attempted to show compassion and tried to be there for her, but that was only ever received with hostility. The first time Mrs. Smith yelled at her using Spanglish she new they would never click, not even enough to receive a smile from her upon entering her home.

As Angie mixed their drinks she realized how miserable she truly was. In almost an instant her satisfaction in ruining Mrs. Smith’s rug and her fantasy of murder had turned into shame. This wasn’t who she wanted to be. She had done this job for a woman who loved and respected her for years before this and knew that she could find respect in another home again. She didn’t need to subject herself to this abuse to be a good mom to her son.

A good role model would have self-respect and walk away from a situation that demeaned her. She wanted her son to know that he never had to be treated like that and she wanted herself feel proud again.

She took her apron off confidently and lifted their drinks into her hands. She walked into her living room and set them on her crystal coasters, of course. With a polite smile Angie said to her, “Mrs. Smith, I quit. I don’t deserve to be treated like this anymore. One day I hope you will find happiness, you’re going to die young of misery. I also need you to know that I have lived in this country my whole life. I speak perfect English. You should be embarrassed of yourself.” Angie smiled, gathered her belongings from the closet and left. She really wanted to yell ‘fuck you’ right into her face, but knew that would only feel good for a second. She also wanted to tell her that when she goes to Pilates three times a week her friend Jen comes over to keep her husband company, but she also knew that wouldn’t make her feel good long term.

The most gratifying thing for her in that moment was the sound of the front door closing behind her and knowing she would never have to be on the other side of it again. She couldn’t wait to go home and hold her son.