My attempt at becoming a productive and tax-paying member of society seem to have met with success, because it is likely that I will soon become a clerk at a semi-local H&M outlet. I must improve my fashion sense considerably, in other words.
It would mean that I will have to trudge off to work two-three days per week, and the salary should be a nice addition to our budgets. Not that we strictly need it, but as we now have to pay rent on the house, it would be nice to go back to what we once enjoyed.
Between us, Mark and I should enjoy a full weekly salary. Yes, nearer minimum wage than anything, but every bit counts, and every penny makes a difference. Right? And with the unquenchable thirst of Mark’s new monster, we need to increase our income.
The only problem is, of course, that when we go shopping, clothes shops are the last thing I want to spend any time in. I always want to hurry out as fast as possible. Now I have to spend hours or full days in one. But it’s for a good cause.
Though, the man of my life could show a bit more enthusiasm, and not giggle as he does. When I told him the news, he chuckled, patted me on the head, and wondered aloud how long I would last “in a real job”. So much for confidence in the abilities and tenacity of yours truly. I’ll show him…
Mum was more worried about how it would impact my schooling, and she has always been quite cool on the idea of me working. I should focus on my education, she says. But it is all about balances, I suppose. I can spare a ten-fifteen hours a week and get out of the house for this. At least now I will have some claim of belonging to the working proletariat, and not just the idle and lazy petty bourgeoisie.