So Screwed

Dear Diary,

It's been almost one entire month since I've been fired from my job and I've been keeping it a secret from my wife. This week alone, too scared to tell her the truth, I've lied to her that I've gotten a promotion and a signing bonus and I've offered her the opportunities of both quitting her job and getting pregnant, both of which she's taken me up on and completed. I've also told her to go ahead and spend some money on herself. She's maxed out most of our credit cards on maternity wear and baby gadgets. I've cheered her on in every store as she makes a purchase, and encouraged her to tip all sales staff and cashiers. We are so screwed.

During the past two days, as my wife has been shopping for a new house, I've pretended to go to work and then walked the streets of this city in a faux fur coat and raccoon hat, and a pair of extra thick snow pants, all of which I found for a steal at a garage sale and which I hide under mounds of restaurant trash when I go home at night. These past few days, my fur and pants have smelled putrid since they were not properly air-dried after I threw them into a public pool when I thought I didn't need them anymore, but now I do, since I really don't own anything else.

When I came home last night, my wife confronted me.

MY WIFE: I called you at work today and they said you didn't work there anymore.

I was so scared. And petrified.

ME: Not after today I don't. I just got promoted to the head office in New York City!

MY WIFE: What?

ME: That's where I was today. I just flew back. Pack our things. We're moving.

MY WIFE: I'll have to break our apartment lease.

ME: Pay them whatever. We have to leave tonight. Pack everything we own.

With not much credit to our names, we bought two airplane tickets, and at my insistence, reserved a room for a month at the Plaza, one of the most expensive hotels in the country.

This morning, after I left for my pretend new job wearing a brand new Savile Row suit, and eating scrumptious room service (escargot and a bottle of 1986 Bollinger champagne), I grew anxious that perhaps my wife was suspicious that I was fired from my "photocopy guy" job.

I went down to the street, grabbed my fur and snow pants from the trashcan where I hid them last night, and walked the streets, contemplating my next move. When I was told by a pair of police officers to stop loitering and "smelling up the place", an idea hit me. I ran to ABC studios where The View talkshow is taped.

As my wife turned on the television in our hotel room while receiving a massage, facial and manicure, and nibbling on caviar, she saw me being interview by Barbara Walters and Whoopi Goldberg and the rest of the fine ladies on The View.

BARBARA: This morning, before we started taping, this fine gentleman by the name of Eric appeared at our front door with an important message.

ME: That's right, Barbara. My name is Eric and I am donating some of my newfound wealth to the fine city of New York so that construction of a new hospital for sick children can begin.

BARBARA: Tell them the amount which you are donating, Eric.

ME (smiling): Three hundred million dollars.

WHOOPI: That is fantastic. Eric, you are one wonderful man.

ME: Thank you. But it's the least I can do. I just got a new promotion and I make lots and lots of money and I am not unemployed nor have I ever been fired.

BARBARA: We have Donald Trump on the line. He'd like to say a few words.

DONALD: Barbara, after hearing of this heroic man's contribution, I was inspired to match his donation with three hundred million dollars of my own.

ME: Well, I would like to match your contribution with another three hundred million dollars.

WHOOPI: That is absolutely terrific.

BARBARA: It sure is, Whoopi.

ME: Yes, and I was never fired from my job as a photocopy guy. That never happened, just in case any of your viewers think that ever happened. Because it never did, even if some people might be growing suspicious that it ever did. People loved me as that photocopy guy and they never asked me to vacate the premises after I told everyone where they could go, and just generally, hurt their feelings.

More calls came in. And more people wanted to donate money. And I said I'd match all contributions. It was marvelous. I felt invincible. And exhilarated that my wife probably wouldn't find out, for just a little while longer, that I lost my job.