December 7th is Pearl Harbor Day, “a day that will live in infamy” and also the day I found out the greedy ambulance-chasing law firm I thought was going to sue my former employers for firing my pregnant self was not, in fact, quite as greedy as I thought. They called to say they wouldn’t be taking the case! Actually, they left a message on my machine to that effect, which I thought was a pretty weasel-y thing to do.
So now I’ve been fired by both my bosses and my law firm. I called back to find out why they spurned me, expecting to learn that my case was too small-potatoes for them to trifle with, and they added insult to injury by telling me they’d determined I had no case. That I deserved to be fired, according to my former bosses, and that it had nothing to do with my condition.
“Well, OF COURSE they’d say that,” I patiently explained to the lawyer-drone I got on the phone, “that’s why you guys are supposed to tear their argument apart, do some lawyering, show them who they’re up against. They’d never get away with that kind of garbage on The Practice! Show some mettle; you guys are going to be advertising on subways next to Dr. Zizmor the ill-named dermatologist forever if you don’t learn to step up….”
And that’s when I found myself giving a pep-talk to a dial tone. The jerk hung up on me!
So I don’t know what to do. I’ll be OK for a while, but I have to get another job. I mean in addition to calling up my old corporate headquarters every fifteen minutes to call them spineless, backstabbing, baby-hating, devil spawn. And signing them up for subscriptions to The Watchtower and office visits from the Scientologists. And ordering them a dozen Bowflex machines to work off inevitable the weight-gain caused by being recent members of the fruit, organic goat cheese and smoked-meat of the month clubs.
These endeavors have been soul-satisfying, to be sure, but they don’t pay the Visa bill. And since it now seems unlikely that a seven-figure settlement check will be direct-deposited into my dwindling bank account in the near future, I’ve got to figure out what I’m going to do for work. That Olympic judge idea doesn’t seem to be panning out, and I don’t see any runway work on the horizon, given my current figure.
(OH!! I forgot to report on this little news flash: in addition to the whole ‘it’s Pearl Harbor Day and my greedy lawyers aren’t greedy enough’ debacle, today marks another low point for me: I am at a horrific state of equilibrium in which my 6 months swollen belly sticks out exactly as far as my giant pregobreasts. I’m glad I finally look pregnant and not just “damn, Marnie’s really packed on a ton”, but with breasts this frighteningly huge, I never thought I’d reach the point I’m at now.)
((And this isn’t any false-modest, I’m Gwyneth Paltrow and I look dewy and wonderful with my new pregnancy breasts in this month’s In Style magazine; these are enormous “old Russian lady with knee-high stockings rolled down to her ankles, pushing a shopping cart down the avenue” cantaloupe-sized, low-riders I’m sporting here.))
So I have to admit, my job prospects seem somewhat grim.
Got to think, got to think…
I wonder how one gets work as a voice for animated cartoon characters, because I bet I could do that. I mean I know they hire celebrities to do the big Disney movies, but what about the millions of cartoons on cable TV? Or maybe voice-overs for commercials? I could do that pregnant, so long as they taped them and I could take bathroom breaks. Does anyone out there have any connections in the voice-over or cartoon voice businesses?
Please let me know.
Or what would be even better is if I could invent some baby product or come up with some service or idea to sell. Like the baby-wipe warmer I saw the other day, or the rubber ducky that changed colors if the bathwater was hot enough to poach an infant. Just some hunk of plastic that would cost a nickel to manufacture and could make me millions AND make the world a safer and/or happier place for babies.
Like dog-walkers. Who had ever heard of dog-walkers ten years ago, and now they’re all over the place in
(They are like combination maternity coaches, midwives and cleaning women, from what I can tell. They advise you on breastfeeding, keep kids from contracting jaundice and will even move your car on alternate-side-of-the-week days.)
((But please, this is an uninformed opinion. If you or someone you love is a doula and I’ve grossly misrepresented the work you do, please take pity and let this one slide. I’m under a lot of stress, here.))
But this may be the answer – come up with a thing or an idea instead of getting an actual job.
Got to think, got to think…
Hey, whatever happened to wet-nurses? You used to hear about them all the time in Jane Austin novels and the like, but what about bringing them back? Maybe I could hire a corp of supermodels that belong to Mensa and charge covetous
Forgive me for my hasty exit, but I’ve got a business plan to start.
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