I'm working as Jared's sexy front desk girl this morning, and I swear to the heavens above that I'm gonna get myself fired by noon--which is fine, because it's only 10:45 and I'm totally starving.
Deep in my soul, I feel like I'm capable of handling this job every Friday--but my word, I'm having a hard time getting my act together. This morning alone I was late, my outfit has failed to meet the standard office dress code, I'm blogging, and I keep calling my husband "Jared" instead of "Dr. Lawson."
I'm like, "Excuse me Jared, Ms. Smith has finished filling out her new patient paperwork."
And Jared kind of mutters, "Call me doctor, not Jared."
And I forcefully pull him aside by the arm and whisper, "Um...Seriously, let's save the far fetched bedroom fantasies for home. You've got work to do."
It's bad. Jared instructed me to charge a woman for a "97124," and I really had no idea what he was talking about, so I made my best guess and said, "That will be 971 dollars and 24 cents." Meanwhile, I was logging on to Gap.com to pick out a few new things--because seriously, if people are paying that much for chiropractic care, I can certainly splurge on a fabulous wool sweater.
In reality "97124" is a code for some kind of physical therapy procedure, and the lady has a plain old fifteen dollar copay.
Well, damn. That was a bit of a let down.