If “funemployment” ever makes it into the dictionary, I’m moving to Canada.

Oh, they speak English in Canada? MEXICO IT IS!

I hate “funemployment.” I also hate “Sunday Funday.” I don’t hate the people who use these terms and phrases, but I do hate their word choice. They’re exploiting fun, and it’s funfair. Not every word that begins or rhymes with “un” should be made fun. Some things are not fun.

I’m wearing underpants right now (thankfully). And, like sunburns and unfriendliness, they’re not fun. Sure, there are some fun underpants, but we don’t have to call them funderpants because we already have a name for them. (That name is granny panties. There’s nothing more fun than comfort.)

All right, got that off my chest. I had to make my dislike for the term “funemployment” clear before I admitted that I’m currently unemployed and it’s the most fun thing in the world.

If an employer is reading this right now: Don’t worry. Work is one hundred, too. It’s cool to have a purpose and learn new skills, and equally as cool to have cash moolah and health insurance. But you know what’s cooler than being cold? Not having a job. Not having a job is the coldest.

Today, I showered for the first time in three days. Within a few seconds of turning on the water, the shower floor was covered in seaweed. Without knowing it, I’d had seaweed tangled in my hair for several days. The shower took a little longer than normal—because I had to condition twice and also finish my Klondike bar—but I didn’t mind. When you’re unemployed, you can be slow and eat Klondike bars in the shower at 3:00 in the afternoon, and no one gives a what.

I visited my niece and nephew in Pennsylvania last week. I spent weekdays with them at the movies, the park, and the pool. My niece asked me to stay an extra day so I could watch her at gymnastics.

Heidi: Aunt Allie, you’re so fun and nice. Will you come with me to gymnastics?

Me: I don’t know, Heidi. That’s a Monday … I should really get home and back to work—JUST PLAYING BABY GURL. Course I’mma be there. You think they’ll let me join the class or is it mostly for four-year-olds?

On the way back to Maine after Pennsylvania, I stopped in Rhode Island to see a friend. We drank booze, ate Cheez-Its, and went to bed at 2 a.m., and I did not feel even the least bit irresponsible. The next day (or same day, I guess), I had to run to my cousin’s house to pick up a bathing suit I’d left there a few weeks ago. She invited me out to dinner.

Lynn: Cousin Allie, you’re so fun and nice. Will you come with us to dinner?

Me: I don’t know, Lynn. It’s the middle of the week… I should really get home and NAAAAH I’M PLAYING. Course I’mma go to dinner. I’ll chill on the beach until then. You got sunscreen I can borrow? No sunburns funburns for me.

In a few days, I’ll go to Puerto Rico to visit another cousin.

I leave on Sunday for a few days, and it will be fun. It will be taking advantage of my funemployment on a Sunday Funday.

I take this whole post back, those are totally appropriate things to say.

(Just kidding. Still hate them even if they work.)