22 Depressing Ways To Thank Your Work Mom

22 Depressing Ways To Thank Your Work Mom

One has three types of Moms over the course of their lives. First is your real Mom, who loves you unconditionally. She could give two shits about your addiction to 7th Heaven reruns, and she beams of pride and happiness at your unique skill of consuming an entire can of Pringles in 3 minutes and 37 seconds.

Once you enter the purgatory that is academia, however, you are introduced to your school Mom. This person doesn’t actually love you (unless the Mary Kay Laterneau subconsciously rings a bell) – she’s merely paid to care about your intellectual development enough to not get fired.

When these two maternal forces animorphisize, you get your work Mom. This is the woman who gives you a good type of conditional love that says: “I see a value in you that could benefit me – therefore, I care about you to some extent.” She’s picked you out of the litter box of 23-year-old, Barbara Cochran wannabes because she sees the sliver of potential you emit from the rest of the pack. Here’s a tribute to her:

Thanks for not telling anyone about that time I ate lunch alone in my car in an abandoned parking lot on my first day at work.

Thanks for not telling anyone about that time I ate lunch alone in my car in an abandoned parking lot on my first day at work.

Thanks for staying on the phone with me for an hour while I craft a 4-sentence email.

And thanks for not judging me when I scream about how much of a BALLER I am when it’s finally done.

Thanks for always zipping my coat and/or buttoning my shirt when we’re out at the bar.

Thanks for telling me to go for drugs, a raise, and everything in between.

Thanks for telling me I should just “marry rich and get it over with” when I ask dumb questions.

Like if I can get an extension on a fixed-price, contracted assignment.

Or if I can copy some of your resume because mine lacks big words.

Or what a 401k is.

Thanks for being my wingman when the middle-aged, lonely (read: married) firm partners break out the tequila and go on the prowl.

And thanks for taking the bullet when they get too drunk and feel the need to brag about their sexual exploits before their marriage.

Thanks for adopting me like the little abandoned puppy that I am.

Thanks for sharing my hatred of women who don’t wear Kate Spade, or casually take prescription drugs not prescribed to them.

Thanks for being a professional stalker with me…

Thanks for breaking the ice between us by asking me if I ever thought about giving a blowjob to a guy with a lazy eye.

Thanks for understanding my daily routine of “work, eat, work, gym, real housewives.”

And eventually adapting to it.

Thanks for improving my “wife material” status by teaching me how to play dumb games at the bar.

Even though you know I don’t care enough to ever actually learn the rules.

Thanks for also agreeing that I’m the funniest person I know.

Thanks for being 30, single, and still normal.

Thanks for being the black sheep with me.

*NOTE: Not applicable to the average Cochranite …to the point where you took a picture of our project manager on Tinder at the bar, zoomed in on the matches page, checked where he traveled earlier in the week, scowled the internet for girls with the same name and geographic location, and eventually finding the exact girl on Facebook. This was literally the happiest moment of my life.

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