I figured I’d head back towards the lighter side of things while I wait for my special phone call. I’m certain the government (almost) shutdown didn’t help move my invitation along any. Until I hear the phone ring and see that (202) area code I’ll just have to face the fact that I can’t make them move any faster.
Don’t get me wrong, I totally would if I could, though. If it were up to me I’d bake some cookies, eat half, bring the others with a big glass of milk and sit with my placement office and chat. Then, I’d make my officer give me the evaluation and a pen and we’d talk about politics and celebrities and how cute bunnies are while I checked off all the boxes that said I’m super awesome and ready to go to Super Awesomeland for two years. Maybe we’d have Thai food after.
Then she’d realize towards the end that –oops!—she forgot to show me this other form. This oooother form says that not only will I be helping kids and women in places that need it most, but that I’d do it through P.C.’s newest program: Cuddle Farm! Cuddle Farm would be piloted through me since I’m so, so good at cuddling. I’d have to set up all the kids with a baby chicken. Then, that baby chicken would have to be loved so much you couldn’t stand it. Only when children were crying from the cuteness of the baby chickens (and in the good way. And not from being scratched. Or feathers in their eyes) would my job be done. Then we would not eat them. Ever. Instead we eat other chickens from some other village full of bad chickens because I didn’t know those chicken and those chickens probably abused their chicken wives and deserved it.
We, of course, could move on to bigger and better things when they felt comfortable. Pretty soon we’re all sitting on the couch watch How I Met Your Mother with cheetahs crying at Jif commercials. Especially that really touching one with the grandpa and his grandson.
And that’s how I’ll save Africa.