Momnesia

A Bad Thing

Ya'll, generally, I'm okay to be around... a little self-conscious in public, a lot obsessed with being a mom, and quite obnoxious with my nervous-talking thing during which, one day, I will find myself blurting out to "I just love wine, sex, rock music and porn!" in church or at a meeting of the Republican Party, and then I will add something like, "But never on Sunday," as though that makes it all better. Or true. Since I only like some of those things. Guess which.

If it were that day, I could just go to the nearest bar and drink the embarassment away. This is not that day.

This day served me a harsh warning of things to come.

There is nothing you can do to make this better for me, unless you are a lawyer willing to take an employment case pro bono, because this experience has left us reeling, financially, to the point where the fact that my husband smokes makes a huge difference in our solvency. The only thing that would make me feel better is if Jesus, himself, stopped by to tell me that he is proud of me for doing the right thing. Because, ya'll, I did. I did everything I was supposed to.

It was very After School Special. I had two choices:

1. The easy way, which is ignoring Big Wrongnesses and keeping silent though ethics, morals, and laws are being flouted;
2. and, the hard way, which is reporting Big Wrongnesses and possibly getting reamed for it.
   

I chose the hard way.

When I chose that path, I was afraid; but I felt that maybe the Universe has some kind of karmic insurance that protects people who live by ethics and morals. Note to Self: It does not. The Universe let that policy lapse.

That is what makes the Very Special Choice so hard (and not so special). I may know for the rest of my life that I did the right thing, the right way, and for all the right reasons; but I still have been the only person to suffer any consequences.

I know: savvy people ask: "What did you expect?" The answer is that I expected nothing.

And, in the end, that's what we're left with.