Losing My Job

"You're fired."

"Ben, you can't do this! You know me, it wasn't even my fault, Ben." I whined, "It will never happen again, I promise."

"I know it won't..."

"Thank you. Thank you so-"

"...Because you don't work here anymore."

"Please, " I whined.

With tears trickling down my face, I felt a hand grab me from behind. "Come on, lady. Don't make this harder than it has to be."

Those were the stupid words I heard from the imbecile who had gotten me fired in the first place. "You'll find something new...eventually." He added.

I didn't even have the energy to argue with him. I didn't have the energy to tell him that in all honesty, I didn't care about the job itself. I wasn't the work that I did that I was fighting for, but the fact that I had been allowed to work in the first place. I had practically begged my husband to let me get a job. I had worked hard to grab a respectable one. I had worked miracles just to keep one, that could contribute to my lifestyle, firmly in my hands. All for this lowly imbecile to come crashing into my office, harass me, and then frame me for assault. I had simply had enough. I just wanted to go home and cuddle with my husband, a chick-flick and a bowl of ice-cream.

"Do you know what?!" I screeched, "You will regret this, Ben. One day you're going to look back on what's happening today and wish you had done something different." And with that, I walked out of his useless conference room, into the lift and out into the lobby I would never have staff access to ever again.

***

That day, I had the shortest chauffeur-driven ride to my house in my entire life. Apparently, being angry means you don't realise time lapsing around you. I, however, found that to be a lie as soon as I stepped into the living room.

"What the hell?!" I screeched.

Cuddled in the sofa (the exact position I had earlier desired to be in) with my dear husband – entangled in his arms – lay the most beautiful puppy I had ever laid my eyes on.

"Surprise, babes." My husband smirked. "I know how much you love dogs, so I thought I'd get one."

"Erm, William..." I began.

"I know, I know. They are definitely a lot of work, but I can get a dog sitter or a live-in nanny if we need it."

"No, it's not that..."

"I'm even going to get an extension built for when Sugar gets bigger."

"Sugar?" The poor man had even named it, "Will, that's not what I was going to say..."

"We could even get into doggy modelling..." Did this man really just interrupt me with a brainstorm idea?

"William!"

His head finally snapped to my direction, in shock. I never raised my voice at him. Nor did he, at me. It was one of the rules we laid down when we were getting married.

"William, I have never said that I wanted a dog."

"But, I-" He started.

"No buts, Will. In fact, I'm certain I have categorically mentioned I most definitely did not desire a mutt strolling around my accommodation, dirtying my carpets and ruining my clothes. If I recall correctly, I also gave the same argument for why I don't want children."

"I'm sure you did." I ignored his muttering and continued.

"Despite all my peeves though, William, do you know the fundamental reason why I cannot have a dog in my home?"

"No." He whispered.

"I'm allergic, William. I. Am. Allergic. To. Dogs."

"Oh." He said. Then all of a sudden, as though he had just had an epiphany moment, my husband leapt out of the sofa, with 'Sugar' still entangled in his arms. "Oh!" I watched him in amusement as he ran out onto the enclosed patio and placed down the dog with more love than he'd ever shown me.

"So...what now?" I heard myself ask once he returned.

"I don't know." William sighed. "Returning her would be heartless...but you can't afford to be around her. You need to be fit and well for events, dinners, outings...and of course your work too.."

"Well..." I began, bracing myself for his reaction, "about that..."

"What?" He queried, looking confused.

"I kind of got...erm... firedtodayattheofficebyBenbecausesomestupidimbecileharrassedmeandthenframedmeforassult." I rushed.

"Come again?"

"I got fired." I breathed, and it suddenly felt as though everything came crashing down on my shoulder. It was only when I muttered those words that the events of today finally felt real, and just like my husband, I too had an epiphany; I was truly jobless.

"I'm sorry," I whimpered.

"It's not your fault." He said, walking towards me. He began rubbing my back awkwardly and repeated, "It's not your fault.", but it didn't sound like he even meant it.