Working Girl

After several hints and allegations here on the blog, I'm going to come right out and say it: I got a job. Somewhere among the six interviews and the 90-minute writing test, I impressed someone enough to make me an offer. Plus, I was wearing a shirt that, according to Eva, said, "Give me a job and then take me disco dancing."

I know I glossed over that writing test part until now. I confess, I lived in absolute fear that I would suffer the greatest humiliation of my life in holding an MFA and failing a potential employer's writing test. Although, I'll tell you kids, it wasn't anything to thumb your nose at. My disco shirt was wringing with sweat at the end of 90 minutes.

But I was offered The Job, I accepted The Job, and I start The Job on Monday. I'm still a little vague on what The Job is. And whether I can do it. But I prefer not to dwell on those things for now. For now, let's merely celebrate that I don't have to write any more heinous cover letters.