Brett

In the span of about 30 seconds, the President of the United States had blown out the candles on the cake and absolutely destroyed my up-’til-then flawless cake delivery.

I go upstairs and am treated to a withering diatribe about my handwriting that ends with, “I can’t read this. Who spells ‘hamburger’ with a ‘z’?”

This time I stood over the phone, staring at it, thinking, “three people in less than 15 minutes have all emphatically told me not to quit. On my first day. In my first hour. And they all knew she would be out of the house and chose this time to call. What have I gotten myself into?”