Installment IV

I'm sitting at the restaurant that my son worked at until last week, using my blackberry to enter thism

I'm waiting.

I hate waiting. I do it poorly.

I'm waiting for my son's ex-boss to arrive so we can discuss his going-away party.

I'm also standing by to get a text message from junior to let me know that he's out of his interview so I can call him.

My legs are twitching. My hair is a ball of frizz from running my fingers through it. Hair product can only do so much. I'm not drinking decaf. That is a mistake.

Could his interview have run one hour long?

I'll let you know.

Colleen