"Where's My Bailout?"

"Where's my bailout?" said Cranky Boss Lady to the (long-suffering and insanely underpaid) Masked Mom for the millionth time.

For the millionth time, I say, with exaggerated (and not entirely heartfelt) patience, "The theory* is that the bailouts given to the banks and other financial institutions will benefit the economy as a whole in the end--so we're all being bailed out, sort of."

Cranky Boss Lady says, with a whine for crap's sake, "It's not fair."

I lose it. "How old are you? Didn't you just turn 58?! Can you really be walking around expecting the world to be fair?!"

Seriously--you know what's not fair? Being trapped in a truly dead-end job with a FIFTY-EIGHT-YEAR-OLD boss who is still wounded by the unfairness of life and being trapped in that job at a time when the economy is so crappy that I feel lucky every day to have even that job.


*Note that I am not defending the theory. Neither am I pretending to fully understand the forces at work in high finance or in the federal government.

And the Winner Is--

Rough coupla days around these parts. When it comes to the most disturbing thing I've heard in the last four days, it's a toss-up. The candidates:

My mechanic saying, "It is the fuel pump. Once you figure in all the parts and labor it's going to be just a hair over $400."

The girl at the car rental agency saying, "We're going to go ahead and upgrade you to the Malibu because the Cobalt has a funky smell in it and we can't figure out where it's coming from."

Refrigerator Art

Last night, Son-Three yells from the kitchen: "Just what I want to see when I'm trying to decide what to have for a snack: a fetus!"

Technically it's not a fetus, but an ultrasound picture held on the refrigerator by a magnet. And it's not a picture of just any fetus, but a fetus with my youngest sister's nose or a fetus who looks just like my brother-in-law, depending on which side of the family you ask. It is, in short, a baby whose expected arrival in late summer is eagerly awaited not only by Youngest Sister and her husband but by the many people who love them.

Even Son-Three, who is sometimes relentlessly, dangerously adolescent, is excited. Son-Three happens, by sheer coincidence, to share a real-life name with Youngest Sister's Husband*. This afternoon, he says to me, "Mom, if it's a boy do you think they'll name it after me?"

*Lou B. of the Masked Mom Comment Hall of Fame**

**There is no Masked Mom Comment Hall of Fame, but if there were you can bet your butt he'd be in it.