‘Twas time for haircuts, which we’d (the husband and I) scheduled for first thing when they opened at 9. Up and at ’em, then to the local diner for breakfast. Eventually made it back home where I napped with my female cat for a couple of hours.
We decided to get the heck out of the house and went to see Monkey. It had good bones, and we ended up laughing a lot at the film, but it was definitely a stretch of the short story. We enjoyed it, but mostly because we needed the laugh of something silly. And in the middle of that the new came down that 47’s handler decided to send out emails telling all of us feds to justify our jobs by midnight Friday. Cue the rolling of the eyes. “Spitting nails” was the most polite way I could describe my reaction to that wanker’s horseshit. I know I can produce something (after we get guidance from our agency, which they already emailed to let us know would be forthcoming), but what happens to someone who’s on leave Monday, or who otherwise doesn’t have access to their work email to send something? Heaven forfend someone should go on vacation. What a shithead.