Waiting and wailing

So, I had the interview. I think it went well.

My friends' support was wonderful. Everybody sent messages telling me to break a leg. In fact I was thinking of breaking two and then, in case I won't be chosen, suing them for discriminating against the disabled ( I have warned you- I am desperate).

I didn't wear yellow. I didn't tell them how little I really think about UN and its powers to really change the world. I kept my make-up subtle. I didn't chain myself to the table.

And in addition to the French pedicure I did perform another long-overdue beauty operation: I shaved. You know, in case I'd have to sleep with someone to get the job. Only kidding. I think. (I did mean it though: I am that desperate.)

                              

That would have gotten me 2 birds with one stone though. A couple of days ago I donated blood and again the questionnaire reminded me of the drought in my life. South Sudan's drought at least got the attention of George Clooney. Mine fails to raise attention in anyone (George, seriously. you have my number- call me). The questionnaire asked if I've had sex with anyone new in the past 3 months. The answer: I haven't had sex in 3 months. Full stop.

Yeah, the situation with The Man hasn't developed. So, now I'll just wait by my phone. Wait to hear from the job, wait to hear about the results of the location-scouting.

Hey, there's an idea: how about I just become a professional waiter!