The Joneses Can Kiss My....Foot

I am evaluated every six months (in fact in two weeks) on the following factors: 

My ability to get along with my secretary. 

My writing skills. 

My research skills. 

My ability to get along with shareholders 

My telephone skills. 

My desk space. 

My office space. 

My ability to get along with other secretaries. 

My computer skills. 

My billing skills. 

My ability to get along with my boss. 

My internet skills. 

My editing skills. 

My lunch.

My shoes. 

My suits (or lack thereof). (footnote: I don't go to work naked. I just wear a lot of leggings).

My ability to kiss butt (I'm sure it's obvious I excel). 

Every six months, I am told whether I am average, above average or superior (yes) or whether I am below average, needing improvement, or unsatisfactory. 

At home, I am evaluated every six minutes on the following factors: 

My waffles. 

My ability to correctly guess that RJ wants the blue sippy cup this morning and not the red one. 

My sloppy joes. 

My laundry (is it folded? do we all have socks and underwear?)

My refrigerator stash. 

My diaper stash. 

My juice stash. 

My story telling (did I pick the right story? is it a Thomas night? or Sam?). 

My lullabies (Jesus Loves Me or Twinkle?). 

My pajamas (Black sweat pants and a t-shirt or a cute albeit freezing cold nightie). 

So, I made a decision that I do not want to keep up with the Joneses.  I threw away my scorecard.  

The Joneses have a perfectly manicured lawn, complete with landscape stones and fancy flower-bed edging. I have a perfectly passable lawn (thanks to a hippy college kid with long hair and weak billing practices). My flower beds are edged with monkey grass--much easier to maintain while I chase my monkey.  

The Joneses have a twelve-foot blue spruce tree. I have killed (with some help) a blue spruce, a dwarf alberta spruce, a Japanese red maple, a peach tree, an Oklahoma redbud, and an oak tree. May they rest in peace. 

The Joneses have adorable shutters on their windows--perfectly painted each spring. I don’t have shutters. They require a masonry drill bit--something I don’t keep in my home improvement arsenal. 

The Joneses have a new shiny fence. So do I! 

The Joneses have a garage floor so clean they can eat off of it. I’m serious. I actually saw them out there with an air hose blowing the dust off the floor so they could have a picnic. My garage floor has oil on it. And spilled Coke and juice. And sometimes, there are goldfish crackers and fries. We eat at the table. 

I choose not to keep up with the Joneses. It is abundantly clear that they have nothing to do all day but clip the lawn, sweep the garage, and wonder why in the hell the people across the street think geraniums are an appropriate backdrop for Halloween pumpkins.