Going Postal

Two nights ago Angela crawled into my bed at 4 am, as she is wont to do. I tried to fall back asleep but she was fully determined to voice the worries of her little mind, the first of which was:

"Theresa, where are you gonna live after you graduate?" [In case I didn't make it obvious, I'm graduating from college in 5 months. I know you guys are all "Hot potato! What are you gonna tell us next, Tess? Do you like books or something too??"]

"I dunno," I mumbled, then it hit me that I could use her concern to my advantage. God hears the prayers of children twice (right? Isn't that a thing? Pretend it's a thing) and I can always use more prayers. So I said, "Hey Angela, how about you pray for me to get a job in Chicago? Then I can still live close to you."

That sweet little peanut responded, "I'll pray for you to get a job in Hinsdale [our town] so you can live at home. You can work at Gap Kids like you used to. Remember that one time I visited you at work and you let me go behind the counter and get a sticker?"

Um, not quite the professional future I had in mind. So I corrected her, "No honey, see, I want to work in a big building, like a skyscraper. With offices and big windows and a desk chair that twirls."

"You could work at the Coldstone [ice cream shop]," she opined. "No actually, that's not a good idea 'cause Maria works there already."

I was starting to get worried. Please don't be listening to her prayer right this minute, God, I thought and then gave it another shot at remedying the situation.

"Angela, I mean like a really big building. Like a super serious grown-up job." (Incidentally, I think I'll put that objective on my resume.)

"Ok. Ok." She paused to ponder for a minute and then the eureka moment came. "Oh I know. You can work at the post office!"

So guys, my professional career is all mapped out, thanks to my littlest sister. Awesome.