Time Off

So, I'm totally going to jinx it, but I took a few days off of work. In the middle of tax season.

Yeah. Soak it in. I took two days off. During tax season.

I live so dangerously.

This might not seem huge to you, or you, but when I put in the request I actually ducked into a local bomb shelter to avoid the fallout about the fact I wouldn't be working eight days a week until April 15th. And then I put on a hockey mask and some hockey pads and a hockey cup (for the jewels) and went into my boss's office to get my request for time off signed.

But when I got back to work there was no voodoo doll with mini-machetes stuck into it hanging from my desk, and there was no saran wrap over the toilet, or extreme cold shoulder that would last until summer (because working for family means it can spill into family stuff and before you know it if you've pissed the boss off you're stuck shucking 50 ears of corn all by yourself and your birthday present winds up being a tube of Neosporin and some old bags of Ricola.)

Instead, my boss got up and hugged me. And then asked me how I was doing. And said I sounded rested.

So of course I start bawling and tell her I love her, that I love the new chairs in the break room, and that I love tax returns.

Because apparently rested equals stupidly emotional.

I'm sure any minute now a bucket of lime pudding is going to drop on my head, but for now I'm just going to be really happy that working for family also means you can hug your boss and not feel weird about it.

Well, less weird than when I hugged all my other bosses that's for sure. Although when I did that with my coffee shop boss I got a raise, so maybe you shouldn't feel weird about physical contact with your superiors, maybe you should use it to get things in life.

I am going to be such a good role model.