Rehab

I feel like I am in rehab and not allowed out until it’s safe for me, or the general public at large.  I have been pacing around the cocking house all day like a caged tiger.  I am waiting to hear back about my refund.  I think the mention of my (imaginary) lawyer (called Ross.  See Taylor, I knew you’d come in handy eventually) has made them shit themselves.  When I told her I had a lawyer she almost turned white, which is quite a feat for an Indian lady.  They think I am a big hot shot (mainly cause that’s what I told them) back home.  Little do they know that not only am I not a big shot, in fact I am officially an unemployed bum. 

I can’t imagine that anything will happen quickly, but if I were them I would want to see the back of me, quick smart.  We have daily team meetings and it’s like the Kate Breed show.  I even bore myself.  I am so troublesome (I know.  You’re all shocked aren’t you?).  I blame Dad.  He is the most militant fucker I know.  Like father, like daughter.  Well at least I hope so, cause as it happen,s my old man is the best bloke on the face of the planet.  I love you, Pop.

I’ve been told that I won’t get my money back for a month so for the next month I am going to have to be really careful.  I am told that it is super cheap in Goa so I’ll hold off on the arse selling (for now).   I’m not even sure how much I’d get for it anyway.  I haven’t been to the gym for ages so unless they like the Beyonce look I am dead in the water.