I refuse to go into an extended diatribe of what payday is.
I'm not going to give any visuals of a drowning woman who gets to surface twice a month, long enough to pay the bills. only to look in the cupboard and wonder if two people can eat crisco smeared on triskets for the next two weeks.
No, because that would be depressing and whiney and oh so irritating. No one likes irritating and the pedo coddlers would accuse me of feeling sorry for myself.
So I won't.
I also won't go into the story of trying to visit the food shelf last week after work and as I pulled up, three cop cars with their light's flashing came to a screeching halt in front of me and jumped out and ran inside.
Yeah. Just want some food. Not looking to be a witness to a crime. I've had enough of criminals making my life an adventure.
I'll pull up my big girl panties and try it again next week.
Hey, my bills are paid, I guess I shouldn't bitch.
But I sure as hell have a new favorite song.