So I guess it's sort of like The Office

My mom thinks if I'm going to be a teacher come September I should probably have a real job first. You know, the traditional, 9-5 desk job where you spend most of your time figuring out how to covertly check Facebook or make paperclip sculptures. Today, however, I tried to mix it up by coloring in an entire Post-It note with purple ink. Yesterday my personal goal was to find a naughty word that the office's computer software recognized. It recognized vag but not ass, so I spent a solid hour reflecting on why that might be so.

And apparently it's crucial that I have this experience before entering into the teaching profession.

So since last Monday I've been working in my own dear mumsy's office. To be honest, it's actually a pretty sweet gig: no matter how badly I fuck up, everyone still has to be nice to me because I'm the boss's daughter. Granted, I'm trying really hard to avoid fucking up horribly, and so far so good, but the sentiment is the same when I do something right. If I successfully complete the phone number look-up mission they sent me on, I am showered with praise that seems to suggest that this was no mere phone number that I found. No, with the scale of my findings I make Indiana Jones look like a complete jackass. Mortals could not accomplish this feat and return to tell the tale.