Working Hard for the Money

This morning about 9a (okay, I realize that means it really is 10a), I came into work.

I work in a 16- story building that includes multiple companies. When I pulled up, there were three cars in the parking lot.

Two of the three cars belonged to people with the last name Book who ironically are wombmates.

My parents either raised their children:

1. with strong work ethics.
2. with procrastination skills that force them to work on Sunday mornings.
3. to have careers where the work load is way more than one person can handle (even if your last name is Book).
4. to have nothing better to do on a Sunday morning.

Depending on the moment, I guess it could be any of the above, but I'm going to go with #3 because none of the other options are acceptable and are completely lame for a Sunday morning.