I'm A Contendah
The weekend began with a sad message from Mr. Handsome's sister, who told us their beloved dog, Laker, had passed away. He was 12 years old, a pretty German Shepherd, and apparently his stomach had somehow inverted and he died. So sad. He was getting old, but it's always very sad when your pet passes away. We'd spent many holidays and long weekends with Laker, and we're going to miss him, especially Gryphon, who loved his cousin and still expects to see him. The cottage, where he spent all his summers, and the lake, after whom he was named, will miss him too.
I have another interview today for a part-time, lesser-paying job, but a job all the same. As I tell myself all the time, "Poodle," I say, "it's not over 'til the fat lady sings." Whatever that means. Does anyone know? Because I'd really like to know.
And then, as if Simon Cowell looked down on me and proclaimed me to be the next world singing sensation (I've been hearing angels with heavy British accents singing to me all week), I got two more interviews this week! Who knew?! All four of the interviews this week are for medical establishments, which blows me away because I have no medical experience. Well, not professionally anyway.
Maybe these guys are all psychic, and know that I have visited pretty much every single hospital department there is, and even some that don't exist (except in my head). I am so well versed in all things medical, in fact, that I could probably cut someone open, take out their spleen, replace it with a homemade baggy filled with red gel, and close 'er up, and the patient would never know the difference.
You could say I'm an anomaly, in any sense of the word.