Mr B is currently job searching. One of the jobs he applied for is a Peace Corps. position. The PC was surprisingly quick to respond to his application. "Great! Just great... I'll probably be sent to Uganda and end up with a case of Bingy-Bingy fever," he snorts. Clearly Mr B is not fist pumping over this opportunity for racking up frequent flyer miles, experiencing exotic cultures, or saving the world. I mean, who wouldn't want to sit in a sweltering hut wearing a greasy loin cloth and eating goat eyeball stew with your hands from the same bowl as the village elders??? Encouraging as ever, I assure Mr B that a case of Bingy-Bingy fever is favorable to being a single parent hustling his kids all over town for never ending sporting events and honking band concerts, daily vacuuming of tornadic pet fur, suffering through lil brother's lies 'bout never having homework (or worse, actually having to help with it), and having the stress of deciding whether to order cheese or pepperoni pizza seven days out of the week-cause we all know that I ain't gonna have the energy to cook or empty a dishwasher after all that. Mr B actually kinda changed his tune 'bout having a case of the Bingy-Bingy fever-which is testimony to my indefatigable ability to make you feel better about your tragic circumstances because clearly, I have it worse.
FYI-good luck Googling "Bingy-Bingy Fever." Just because Google ain't never heard tell of it is no indication that Mr B will be safe from it.
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