The whole ugly brutal truth

If you could.

If it wouldn’t mean career suicide before stepping over the unemployed threshold.

Would you dare to bare all in your cover letter?

To tell the truth.

The whole truth.

The goddamn ugly brutal truth.

Admit your pitfalls. Your shortcomings and unashamedly boast about your fucking hell-yehs?

Four to five months down the office-track they will know anyway.

They’ll know the real you by then.

I’m about to crack on with finding another job. My freelance position with the local paper is coming to an end. I bloody loved that job. Moist-eyes.

BUT.

I’m ready to flex that curiosity, and gradually I’m mustering the courage to put my 34-year-old Muma-journo self out there again.

I’m looking for The One.

That chemistry that quenches all of your desires.

Story telling. Creativity. Innovation. Feels.

Yeh. Feels. I’ll take that adjective.

I’m putting my CV together. OK…I’m lying.

I am yet to locate the file on my laptop.

I’m working up to it.

I tweeted. I sent a #journorequest tweet. Amittedly I may need to put slightly more effort into bagging The One.

But the cover letter.

Oh dear sweet cover letter.

The part where you sell yourself. First impressions for your potential boss-person.

The bit where you sing like an Smartie-infused overactive toddler banging on about winding that sod, ‘Bobbin’ up.

What if we told the whole truth…

I like praise. Sorry / not sorry.

Lunch breaks are breaks not just lunch.

Sometimes my kids throw up and need 48 hours from school. At home with a parent.

Lazy people are the epitome of pig-swill, and I have difficulty hiding contempt for them.

Often I’ll work so hard in one hit that when I eventually get up to pee it freaking hurts.

BUT.

Occasionally I’ll make a coffee – not for the caffeine hit, but to scroll facebook in peace.

I give praise. I genuinely love to shower compliments on just-deserves.

But I’ll question poor decisions. Raise the eyebrows.

I par-take in ‘view-exchange’ and ‘information sharing’. Call me inquisitive.

Periodically enquiries may be made as to ‘which scent I’m wearing’. My answer will be simple. Nit solution.

I cry fairly easily. Ok. I cry shamefully easily, I blame the kids who fought their way from my body. I was once a stoic icon of ice.

Grazing is good. Biscuits. Nuts. Crisps. Crumbs are my sin.

Imagine giving up the whole truth.

What does yours look like?

10 jobs I could nail thanks to my 5 years Muma experience

1) Waitress – think Wimpy, not La Gavroche.

2) Uber cab driver, USP: Providing a 3 course meal whilst in transit. Will that be the crusts off marmite on white or the mini chedder’s sir?
3) Hostage negotiator: If I can talk a Toddler in arsehole mode down from throwing a cold cup of coffee over cream carpet…
4) Cleaner: speciality tool, wet wipes. Kitchens, bathrooms, walls, arses. I got this…
5) Community police officer: you really don’t want to be leaving your dog’s shit on the pavement or park in the Toddler / Muma spaces on my watch.
6) Laundrette skive, is that Dot Cotton or me? Blurred lines.
7) Teaching assistant, I haven’t suffered at the hands of an enthusiastic 4 year old armed with a Biff n Chip book for nothing, and don’t even get me started on the ‘Pen Licence.’
8) Risk assessor: Stairs, streams, fire pits, ovens, big dogs, small yappy dogs, busy roads, quiet roads, bees, spicy food… you name it, I’ve risk assessed it.
9) Red Coat: entertainment covered 12 hrs a day, special skill: leading a dance off whilst folding washing, singing just like Adele. No lies.
10) Chef, speciality diets: no beans for one, only carrots for the other, no courgettes peppers or spice on another. No carbs, low carbs, only ‘good’ carbs. Gluten free, meat free, extra meat. Only meat. No sauce meat balls, naked pasta… with ham sprinkled on top of everything.



Have I left any out girls? Let me know…

Life Love and Dirty Dishes