What Happens in the Cube Stays in the Cube

Today was my retirement luncheon.  I guess it’s official.  I have retired.  I am freed from the cubicle farm.  Retired.  It sounds so final.  Okay, I’m not really old enough to retire.  But since I don’t plan on getting another job just yet, the word ‘retirement’ will suffice.  Besides, my husband retired in July — we worked together (but that’s another story).  I was lost there without him.  Okay, maybe not lost so much as jealous of his new jam-packed schedule of drinking coffee and taking the dog outside.   

So here I sit wondering what I will do in this next chapter of my life.  Oh yeah, there is that novel I’ve been working on.  There’s always that tricky world peace issue — I could help with that.  Perhaps Charles Gibson needs a co-anchor.  I’m available.  I heard Fred Thompson was looking for help with his campaign — he’s no doubt left me a voicemail.  Note to self: check for messages. The offers in my email box are piling up so quickly.   Hillary — I just don’t have time to be your personal shopper; but I understand Kohl’s has a new line of Vera Wang.  And Mr. Copperfield —  someone smarter than I will have to pull a rabbit out of their hat to get you out of that mess you’re in.   While I weigh my options, there is a couch with my name on it — and a dog who’s waiting to share her Frisbee with me.  Retirement —  yeah, I could get used to this.

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