Unhatched Lemon Chicks

I counted my chickens before they hatched. Hell, I put every fucking egg in the same basket! And I got nothin' but lemonade.

Oh, how the not-so-mighty fall. It's not nearly as splendid or noteworthy when we insignificant common folk stumble, but it's definitely a more acrid pill we must swallow.

I'm hours away from hearing my new landlord tell me she's filing a 3 Day or Quit notice. Y'see, I'd counted on that tax refund of mine to be able to pay all of this month's rent in one "swell foop". And then God laughed.

Turns out the payment plan I'd made with the U.S. Dept. of Education wasn't enough to satisfy the...uh...U.S. Dept. of Education. Go figure! That's what you get when crazy people try to reason with other crazy people. No plan or contract in the world was good enough for them. They're taking all of my refund.

Oh, sure. I can get half of it back. But that won't happen until mid-July. And by then, well, I'm not sure where to tell them to stick send it.

I knew better than to count on that money. I also knew better than to buy groceries for my son, pay for the power to prepare and serve those groceries, and I most certainly knew better than to pass up the opportunity to be a fluffer for the new Guys Gone Wild video collection.

Damn it all to hell.

If anyone has a really wealthy uncle desperate for a housewife, would you, could you, send him my way before tomorrow? I promise not to bankrupt him. I only need $800. And I promise I don't want to be written into his will. Honest. I leave that stuff for Anna Nicole.

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