Whipped

“The whipped cream is ruined.  Ruined.  Absolutely.  What am I going to do now?”  I whispered to myself.  I was about to lose my job and with it, my security.  If I lost my job, I would literally be outed for everything I had done wrong. 

If my parents learned about all my minor transgressions, they would never allow me back into their lives.  Because looking back, what I had thought had been so minor at the time, no longer seemed minor.  More of a “What the fuck was I thinking?”  I feel like I am fortunate to have gotten away with enough in the last few years that everything was finally catching up with me. 

Funny how something as insignificant as whipped cream could be responsible for the beginning of my downfall.  Before I started work at Anthony’s, I already knew where all the emergency exits were and the quickest escape routes from any room.  Part of it was because of my past lies and some of it was my parents (even though they would never admit it).  I just wanted to have a plan and know I was safe. 

Out of options and with desserts cooling, I pulled out the tub of Cool Whip.  When the owner later came back around asking for the recipe, I knew I had gotten away with my lies.  Again.