Keep Calm and Carry a Big Drink Read Online Free PDF Page A

(just to be sure), I ask Nic, “Why do we need a cake topper?”
    “It’s just another insurance policy against getting the wrong charms,” Nic assures me. “Not that we got the wrong charms last time, but this time I want to control my destiny a bit more. Based on the angle of the topper, I can point to each ribbon around the cake and know exactly what charm is hidden inside. Check out this ribbon. That’s mine.”
    I pull out a square charm. Nic smiles, clearly pleased with herself.
    Seema leans into Nic to get a better look. “What is that? An earring?”
    Nic is clearly offended. “No, it’s not an earring. It’s a picture frame. It means a future with a happy family.”
    Some days I swear these jewelers just make this shit up.
    The doorbell rings. “Your guests are here,” Nic chirps excitedly to Seema. “Can you guys go greet them while I finish tucking these charms back in?”
    “Okay,” I say, hopping off my seat to go greet the guests in the front hallway. “Just remember the passport…”
    “One o’clock position, after I place the topper directly in front of Seema. You can’t miss it!” Nic assures me. “Seema, you’re midnight.”
    Seema and I head over to the front door, and I begin the long-standing single-gal tradition of trying to be happy for yet another friend who got to a major milestone first.
    Actually, I am happy for her; I just wish that I didn’t have to participate in the following conversations over and over:
    Happy Guest: “So are you and Danny thinking about tying the knot?”
    This question should be followed by a swig of peach Bellini, followed by my upbeat, though not too cheerful, answer that we broke up months ago. (Instead, since I am driving, I drink Diet Dr Pepper. It is not the same.)
    My answer is always incredibly well received, with said guest looking embarrassed and grief stricken for me, patting me on the shoulder, and telling me I’m still young, I’ll find someone even better. Or that she never really liked him. (Say what now?) Or that ubiquitous assurance that, and I quote, “Everything happens for a reason.” A statement that people only use when your news is so hideously awful, they can’t think of anything comforting or useful to say.
    But the romance question isn’t nearly as bad as the questions about my pink slip.
    Guest (looking at me with a mixture of concern and pity): “Have you any more news about your job next year?”
    I teach calculus at a public school in Los Angeles, and unfortunately, because of state budget cuts, this year they’re going to have to lay off a bunch of teachers. Because my union insists on “last in, first out,” I may not have enough seniority to stay. So last March, I received a “possible layoff” slip from my high school, and it’s been weighing heavily on my soul ever since.
    What is a “possible layoff” slip? Government bureaucracy at its finest. Basically it’s a sheet of paper that tells me that it is possible that my employer won’t be needing my services next year, but that I shouldn’t make any plans to do anything else because they’ll probably need me. This is the fourth one I’ve received in as many years.
    My perpetual job insecurity is probably the last thing I want to talk about at a party. (Though why I’m not married yet is definitely running a close second.)
    Since I’m driving Seema later, I continue to console myself with more Diet Dr Pepper, then give my pat answer: No, I have not heard anything yet, but pink slips are common in the Los Angeles Unified School District, and they happen every year. I am always hired back, I will be fine.
    Grief stricken and/or embarrassed look by guest, followed by comments ranging from “I’m sure it’ll all be fine—you’re so good at what you do” to “Everything happens for a reason” to “You still get unemployment and some pension though, right?”
    And finally, there are the conversations of where I will be living next month. You